Ode To The Flowers
He knew not what he sought more in her, were it the unfulfilled thoughts
Of years long past in which he sought the sweet intoxicating scent...
that scent of his favorite flower...
The Night Blooming Jasmine Flower
In which he knew she wore the essence of to tease and tantalize his senses...
Or was it the thought of her...
Her alone, long hair flowing, blowing in and through the breezes...
The breezes that gently touched his very soul,
as with each thought of her that filled him, over filled him...
That in which permeated him...
His senses, his thoughts, his senses again, as he would smell and feel
As her presence swept over him as softly and as gently as
the night breeze whispers blew ever so gently over him...
Body, mind, spirit, soul...
Ah that scent, that scent combined with her long flowing hair...
Was she teasing him, temping him, or demonstrating her power over him...
He would ponder, yet not too long as it took away the power of her scent
her hair, as he longed for more...
Both or all, it mattered not...
Was that her hair that caressed him?
Was his mind playing tricks upon him, or was this more than a mere illusion...
Delicately he awaited her in his dreams, when would then come to him,
her long hair flowing cross his bare inner thighs
as he would open his eyes in hope to catch a glimpse of reality...
Yet was this reality actually there...
When he would think it was not he would smell that Jasmine
painted deep within his memories,of his memories so long ago,
in distant places fill his soul, his mind, his perceptions,
sometimes distorted in his thinking as he
peacefully, yet sensually conjured up his past...
Ah no matter what it was about her, he knew it was her...
She whom he held if only in his dreams...
He would sleep and in his sleep he would wonder...
As she would come to him, come to him in his dreams...
was it real or an illusion when he would watch her...
Her every movement as she sat nude in the moonlight,
lightly touching the Jasmine
along her neck as she would cast a quick glance toward him and
toss her hair wildly and wonder...
Is she tossing it for me...
He rested, she rested...
They met at night in their dreams...
For there, there in that whirlwind of Celtic flight their arms...
Their bodies would meet...
There they would stay...
Within their whirlwind of rapture in Nightblooms...
Ah Vespertine, Ah Vespertine...
His lips would drop her name like honey
Or nectars from the flower, the Night Blooming Jasmine,
Of his soul...
She, beckoned him, she drank of the nectar that dripped from his lips
as he called her name, succulently she drank her name as it fell...
Fell from his lips, she drank as hungrily and eagerly...
as did the Night Moths that would drink of the nectars
of the Jasmine Flowers...
Though miles upon miles apart, seemingly like eternities...
They awaited those quickening sweet moments of death...
Death where they could meet again bound together by...
Their Silver Cords of Astral flights...
Of their dreams...
Ah Vesper, Ah Vesper...
Her mind would quiten...
Her heart would quicken...
Her spirit would abound...
by
Mistress Reba
For A Friend
11-19-06
