In Praise of a Flower: the Honeysuckle Rose

I remember the first day we met In the morning dew soft and wet The mist of love upon your breath And you blushing like Negril sunset I remember your flared dress Your perfect beauty and loveliness May tongue longing for your breast Engorged globes of happiness. My father caught me open mouthed Just when honey visions sprouted Honeysuckle was the word he qouted While the butterflies there floated But I heard before men called you Morning glory, passion red and new I touched your petallous lips and knew My heart would always belong to you.