A Bouquet's Strokes Of Love Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

Clothed in hydrangea,
as you yield
to my wink and blink,
I pour myself out,
and toss at your chest

purple irises
in indigo and pink frocks
to hover you
with moths of froth
stroking you

with nylon baby hands,
when times stir itches.

In wings of honeysuckle
I dive into your
arms to find a hearth
for my cold wrinkles

and deepening
dimples with no tongue
to fill them up
with a volcano's breath

overflowing
and shooting up
into the sky
of our whizzing touches
and fondles,

leaving ink marks of stars,
as we stand
in the nebula
of a murmuring jungle,
wild animals

sketching out our traction
into a full-fledged
egret on an ambling
cow mooing out
throttled love
with a trumpet's deep voice.

(ii)

Snow mounds of petals
on hawthorns
and goldenrods feed
my eyes with stars
catapulted
into a spot light-years off.

Under your stretched
harlequin and shamrock
arms that have drizzled
with thin broomsticks

of rain, I breathe in
the petrichor of times
still cutting through memory
with your cool
strokes and brushes,

your fingers splashed
across my face,
as a swelling swan shrugs
off wings at sky-
gripping sparrows,
olive leaves in their mouths.

When times ride storm
waves,
and nests stretch out

on a tumbled
floating tree
flipping out birds to land
on your bouquet,

I stretch myself out
in my veranda's sofa bed
to feel your arms
of flowers breathing out

rolling songs
to land on my spine,
as they flow
in a crooning river.