I pressed a flower to my lips
and closed my eyes;
imagined your mouth
caressing mine;
inhaled the fragrance,
made a mental note
that you smell better
than any rose
that ever tickled my nose,
or rose hips
that ever graced these lips.
You feel better than any velvet petal
on satin skin.
You taste better
than the sweetest honey
there has ever been.
And your name in my ears
sounds better than
the birds at sunrise,
as dark disappears.
When I pressed this flower
to my mouth,
I thought I'd like
to guide it South,
to come to rest
on mounds moist with dew,
and imagined its gentle
caresses were you.

© Karen Godson