Passion Flower
       

While the plural twist

of its tendrils

corkscrews through time's

fleshy phellem,

passion training to the trellis,

a length of vine

veers away

from the structure,

its tensile springs outstretched,

the little whips, alive, umbilical, craving,

and I—my poor eye—

could weep

for the child in me,

the bloodred blossom

all tangled up with salvation.

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Copyright © 2012 Melissa Apperson All rights reserved
from 32 Poems
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission