Letter to P on Perfumed Paper
       

I'm pollen and itch,
a dangerous flower
and you're so busy,
proverbial bee, that you
don't see me. Ah!
but you come closer,
drawn by the not-quite-scent
of my darkness.
Here is velvet. Here
are folds and runnels
of sweetness, powdery secrets,
stamens and fragrance.
Come in. Come all the way in.
When you leave
you will carry my golden seed
on every hair, a corona
of sparks. And wherever
you go, you will plant
this flame. And whatever
you touch will be stained
with flame. And you yourself
will smolder slowly, although you insist
on buzzing here and there, as if
that could save you. You don't
understand. Once you've accepted
the gift of fire,
nothing can stop you
from burning.

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Copyright © 2014 Priscilla Frake All rights reserved
from Correspondence
Mutabilis Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission