SICKENING EXPLOSION OF SEED

This is a poem I like from late spring but don't know how to end

A month has passed and now as I said the lilacs are open
noted, didn’t I, the post cerulean sky

I said, those are for you, pointing out this spray of blossoms atop the dresser

did you notice the lilacs are open?

it is now that we have come to touch again

the day I walked around with those branches reaching out my breast pocket

opening

thus

sickening explosion of seed

sickening to you

no storm pounding the branches against the shutters

no tearing them asunder

the temperature just remains to hot

it was sickening explosion of seed

incomparable, that beauty

of knotted old woods repetitious innocence

sprouting and falling

a push, and out luxurious foliage

green that is silver

witnesses the sun

drinking at the branches

this is not death of or rebirth of like winter bequeaths spring

is loss of and growth of

that which unfolds now that the petals have blown

at the point that once held them, again one witnesses the undistinguishable

distinguished when I took off your clothing

It was your mouth telling me without speaking

again groans at a blood ritual

and the knocking at a gate opening

fingering the softness of intricate and ornate iron reds

perceives it to be there just before It takes him

wet dew

lying in the moist soil under overgrown thickets

prostrations, intent on listening

for a small touch as I give to you

so this wrist

and first this hand

that I remember whispering into through my lips, a part of my mouth

prayers that give rise to scented flowers