Camellia

Blackberry, wild berries,

flower fields and humming bees.

I remember that in those hazy moments,

she was my springtime muse.

Enamoured was an occurrence in her fruit orchard

Lipsticked girl with a velvet heart

The fruits of her labour coat her fingers

sticky with sugar and sweet with euphoria.

Is this what angels bleed?

Hints of tart, crushed pomegranate seeds

She smells of bergamot and amber,

of rosemary and pines, of moss and the woods.

When her bones turn to earth, I’ll plant her favorite flowers

so then one day I may hold her again

In the fruit of my tears,

perhaps knee-deep in my longing,

she exists as a bittersweet blur, soft radiance,

apricot trees and the mellow trickling of the water fountain.