honeysuckle blossoms


Oh, I love the honeysuckle sucking the air
from the mouths
of tenderer locals—
love it though it overtakes, sprawls without shame

Oh, honeysuckle, I breathe you in.
It’s an awful love.
In your exhalations I smell my own perfume
thick foreign scent

Oh, I try not to overshadow
but like the honeysuckle, I might,
unthinking, ever drinking
ever taking things not mine, I might, in spite

of myself. I am daughter of invading avarice, after all
progeny of spreading out like I own the place
child of greed, of need, of wanting, taking, owning

Published by

Elaine Olund

I'm a writer, artist and designer who thinks way too much, and tries to see the beauty in the world.

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