It was
a fever state,
hot and delirious;
being in love.
Love was a febrile hallucination, a trick of the mind.
Lurid colors, vivid imagery, rich emotion,
desperate beauty;
a haunting vision
that can’t be unseen.
Our bodies were tumid fruit
that ripened
in the sultriness
of love’s summer.
We gorged ourselves on textures and tastes;
the enchanting sweetness of lust,
the decorous tartness
of impatient longing.
The sumptuous spice
of passionate encounters.
The bitter sourness of ugly hurts,
dark moments that crystallized
into insidious weeds
and took root in the space between us;
that gave the kiss of death
to our hibiscus dreams.
In the cool blue light
of nighttime,
I feel inside myself
for you,
caressing the empty spaces
where your memory lies;
teasing at the edges of loss,
touching the pleasure that remains.
I blossom endlessly with wanting,
love’s eternal flower,
red petaled,
bright and pretty,
subtly fragrant.
I am one
who dreams of you:
the bee
that stung me.
