Of my favored poet

seeking the sweetness within the calyx,

I get smothered with pollen.

I come home wondrously golden

though unrecognizable,

thick with the colours

of love I have known,

leaving a trail wherever I go.

I’m full of signs.

You can read me like a book,

know where I drink,

and the company I keep.

The pollen of delight 

is stuck all over me:

saffrons, burnt siennas—

irrefutable evidence

of his place in my life.

And when I dance with you

in my arms

I see pollen on your eyelashes,

in your hair...

Then a golden glow, a halo—

And soon we cannot tell 

one from the other