Like Pressed Flowers
light of late afternoon
spills onto us like wild honey
flowers bloom
around my ankles
into bouquets of calla lily and cosmos, foxtail and freesia
we kneel in pagan prayer
you cannot will away my departure
by braiding blossoms in my hair
or whispering warm
on my lips
(I taste your words,
they stream down my throat
like rushing wine)
you can claim pieces of me
if you scrape at my cheeks
I will shed golden leaves
upon your feet
we are secured by the twine of hands and lips
vines that cling in rapture
still
infatuation only lasts as long as violets do
(yours
I will put away in a cool place
to preserve like pressed flowers)
By Anna Geiger