She is the ivy stretched out at your feet,

twisting along edges of awareness;

she’s the clematis winding her way up,

reaching out to entwine your limbs with soft

petal words. Her thorns are invisible,

worn down to dull nothingness over time

she’s spent worrying her beauty too plain

for your taste.  Once your attention was pricked

with bright color, she drew blood – passion

with her touch and drowned you in desire

for her nectar. Now she lingers in your

memory, her scent fragile in early

morning hours, dew-kissed with antici-

pation of the sun’s warmth – she grows on you.



© Siobhan