Dusk Honeysuckle

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To the dusk
Flowers put their moods
In scented wafts
On which the eyes might close,
Deferring to the only open sense
Of the tantalised nose,
In which such enrichment
Is found in sweet distillate
Of earth and loam:
The mind somehow
Washed in perfumed sherbet,
Cleaned by something
Made perfect,
Alerted to the essential element
Volatile under the mid summer moon.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2016

Woman

 

 

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Blousy white
and as pure as skin
silken and finely woven
from a pure thought
the flower bleeds
jasmin scent
as the purfume bleeds
its distillate
and blossoming
is mind and body
arriving to the flush
of a sweet capturing
mood, alight
the breath of being
and the forceful pulse
Of the procreational moon.

 

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice