Honeysuckle




Bends round and over

The rusty archway.

Holds the metal framework up in its embrace,

Tickles my scalp

As I bend to pass.

Tendrills reach up to the sky.

Promise of bud, of flower

And perfume.

Such perfume!



For what

Does it so anxiously reach?



Is it a higher plane?

Support?

Fulfilment?

Escape?