Here they are

and flowers end up becoming beautiful perfumes.

scents are strange things
as are flowers that end up
becoming perfumes.
like a lotus
who gets out of the mud into a bottle.
like a web spun out of cob.
some smell like purple, others like sun
immersed in earth
grown from dirt
some like fume, others like corpse lily.
the late spring bloomer,
regal crown imperial
with strange scents, really.
but the empathy of the
calla lily,
more magic than origami
something there is
that these petals have seen
that many come out so clean.
but some may not
close resemblance is to
flesh that rots.
like the hand of a gigantea
beautiful carrion
until it’s pale and yellow
a few may feel like a rose
pouring from the petals down to her thorns,
but,
how does it crush and drain
if it is just as fragile
only to ignite like a flaming sword
pierced to the core?
everyone who has passed through remembers.
fold her, without the bees she carries
bring her mint, parsley, and cinnamon.
beat her till swollen,
trust her, she’s chosen
make a mist that sparkles
and oil for queens

Əľļə & Lyn