The Taste
He is drunk with the scent of her absence.
Once, upon a garden green
With banks of blossoms wild,
There grew a home—
Bathed in sunshine smiles.
Bees—the bees...
Dancing harvesters,
Amid the cornucopia
Of color and of cheer.
Petals whispered secrets,
While thorns wore sweet perfume—
A soul of no ill repute,
Gloved in silent bloom.
It was Paradise—until
A Sower of the seed,
And Servant of the soil,
Amid the lavender and loam—
Plucked the fruit.
And tasted, whole,
The glowing, sweet, forbidden
Hollow of her soul.
Hedge rows of delight,
Once tender, neat, and small,
Grew sudden, wild, unbound—
With bursting bloom and brawl.
And so—cast out was he.
Gate swung soft as he went
Draped in wisteria vine,
While exile wore her scent.
Now days are only memory—
Gilded in gold, as Cortés
Might behold and marvel,
Smote with sacred awe.
But he will never find it—
That garden hidden deep,
Locked in the chambers
Of love.
Known and suffered.
Never touched.
Never smelled.
Never held—
Again.
#poetry #memoir #confession #osxs
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Thank you for coming here and walking through the garden of my mind. No day is as brilliant in its moment as it is gilded in memory. Embrace your experience and relish gorgeous recollection.
Into every life a little light will shine. Thank you for being my luminance in whatever capacity you may. Shine on, you brilliant souls!
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