FLUSH OF COLOUR

Great bloom of love,
like the flush of colour
that blushes mountains in the evening light,
its sudden burst of realisation
entertained in silken robes of red and pink,
as the sun sinks ever deeper into the horizon's brink,
eclipses the senses,
darkens the must of scented breath,
all panting like the fangs of fox and badger,
tongues hanging out, night 's animals
that burrow far beneath the ground, in mounds
that, Venus-like, resound with pants and gasps,
as flowers push up through the loam to light,
light up with joyful abandon where the air is free,
with beat of wing,
that sounds its cries across the skies soliloquy;
ah dreamed dreams they fling their melodies about,
in pulses rushing rhythms, flouted fissions fizz,
swizzle feelings and sensations in a tizz,
as reaching to the tip of pistil, stamen, semen of the plant,
explodes to send its messengers to every corner of the earth,
the mother reborn to sail its flags of Eden's birth.