A Cauldron's Breath Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

Land on my temple,
O soft palm
from a flower's petal
to brush me down
my cheeks

when I'm in the forest
of a nebula.

Let that palm brush
softer than moth skin,
brighter than a flame
of gold petal.

And louder than a glowing
hibiscus trumpet

sinking
the ringing refrain:
"you and only you
spin in my radar".

(ii)

Traction is churned
from a close angle
and harvested
from the cauldron
of a sundial chimes,

as gems cook
inside a sun's furnace
brewing fondles

that pump spume
and froth to the shores
of the one lover

still wriggling
from the sting
of a buzzing bee.

That dived in
for nectar
and jumped out
with only hard rock to sip.

(iii)

But find and grab
a gem
shooting off steam

through
the blaring bubbling lips
of a cauldron

to moist and glaze me
with silver steam
that will not melt off?

O buzzing bee
from a sizzling
cauldron's mouth,

many other bees
have bounced by,
parting
with all my nectar,

as I writhe out
of a departing sting.

But a cooked gem
spins a green bouquet,
a white iris
of stainlessness
flashing out

the gluing heliotrope
of a preened fondle,

its feathers
the cerulean sky
that rises
and doesn't fall back:

Go out to the garden
and pick that flower
waving rainbows through
the gossamer spray

of a buzzing sky
carrying
no cloudy bows
to shoot off thunder.

Only hanging
blades
of lightning swing,
cutting through
no fondling palm.