Lonnie Hicks (www.lonniehicks.com / Chicago Ill)

She is a flower given
in rainy hours
in her is ocean-ness

moving soft winds before her;
floating lightly
shiny new soul blooming

untouched by sentiments darkly
all experience her delight
having never known mean love
only love requited.

Joy seldom comes to the stapled heart
her's has never been.

I am older than she
aged older than my years
mangled innocence
unrequited

the winter bulb
underground
she is summer's sun
warming waters.

I ask her if
her heart,
and my dark bulb
can yet be fertile?

What irony
meeting brings
in words wandering
'cross pages

when individuals
invest
their souls
and their best
summer flailings.

So rare the soul not potted yet
not yet a bulb a'growing
yet wise enough
to love the flower
covered by
winter ground
frozen.

Whisper me
just one word
your soul's summer smells
inhaled

bouquet refreshing
my dusty soil
my winter eyes ungreying

stirred still
by youthful seeds
yours
which arrive with summer's souling
on summer winds
whose innocence
coax old flowers
mine
into fitful starts
re-blooming
in instant's remembering
but destined in the next
to extinguish
happily.