I discovered the garden one summer afternoon
Its high stone walls offered shade in the heat of the day.
Curving arches coaxed me in, along paths lined with violets, chamomile and fern.
Wallflowers, warm and velvet, stroked my legs,
Diverting my senses with colour and faded perfume.
Brazen lilies cat-called from the back row,
Towering over tulips,
Mouths deliciously parted in scandalised mock-horror.
Shafts of climbing sweet peas, tangled in withywind,
Reached out to grab my wrists as I tripped and almost fell,
The cobbled path less even than it seemed.
I sank to my knees then, assaulted
By a soft, ripe bed of shameless peonies.
Big, brazen blooms of open-faced beauty.
How I craved them, rubbing my face in their scent,
Tugging their petals and pulling
Generous handfuls to my lips, my mouth,
Breathing in their musk like a lover drowning.
I reached for the knife in my pocket, and hacked at their stems,
greedily scything, frenzied with lust for their passing beauty.
Gathering their heads in my pollen-stained arms
I ran back down that path,
Laughing at my floral indiscretion,