The Infusion Of Fluid Poem by john clinock

Ultimately
cannot sustain the roses,
they are not comic paper blooms
fed by alliterative liquids,
they need sweet rain,
admiring glances
from the wine drinkers
on the patio,
naked heat
and a wandering nose
to embrace
in scarlet scented intensity.
They need bird song
and fat worms,
the living throb
of rich dark earth,
and at least one poet,
who, dizzied by love
is reminded only
of his lover’s mouth,
the burning petals
of her night and
the infusion of fluid.