WISTERIA WOMAN
by Lisa Shields
Violet lavender drug
slipping beneath my skin,
shucking off the stale air
of too long shut in,
too long shut away
whispering to me
to breathe deep and be.
The clothes fall away
till I stand like mother Eve
two bites before the apple.
Lips blush to rose,
and the tongue tastes
of sweet tart pomegranate,
while a wisp of wind
carries hair to frame my face.
All I have been is pollen dusted,
oh the wisteria sweet
kissing deep,
till I feel the promise of fertile,
drooping fat on a vine
petals that promise nothing,
but hint at all.
A month from honeysuckle still to come,
but I can taste the nights,
raise my eyes to the mantle of sky,
suddenly clad in the skin
of every moonlit woman,
and beckoning with my being
for you to dance beneath
the far flung sky
in the arms of a Wisteria Woman.
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