our lady of flowers rebel

spring fling with a shrub

fiery little forsythia bush
our affair is out of control.
the neighbors noticed
yellow pollen on my lips.
it could have been a dalliance
with an early daffodil
or a cuckold with a crocus,
or some hot house affair.
but no, it is too obvious.
you are firmly grounded
and radiating a single happy hue.
i am almost ashamed
by your bold chromatic assertion
as all else recedes in
a tangle
of cold grey silence.
you are a fast, florid floozy
defying all refined flora
abstemious dicots
and uptight deciduous buds.
your fragrance sings
and happily i breathe
there will be a low hum
when tiny yellow stars
drift from my hair
at staff meetings.


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