Ancient Words (Poem 156)

Turn the flowers inside out,

let their petals fold and 

mold themselves around 

the shape of a summer afternoon--

a magenta parasol, or tent of rose 

and pale gold, a sumptuous palace 

lush enough to hold the treasures 

of the grandest fairytale queen.

Turn the flowers inside out, 

and read the patterns of 

their veins, their life's blood 

stains your fingers and 

the sun--a great cathedral window, hung on emerald frames--

illuminates their fragile curves

and intricate design. Come, 

laze with me voluptuously,

until the hour turns blue, and 

the flowers gaze up 

at the moon, and I, 

the silvery, shifting mist,

whisper ancient words to you.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six