The Song of the Tamarillo and the Poet

Heart shaped hopes, evergreen
frost or blistering sun may dent your borders
turn them brown and paper thin
like pages burnt, the words curled within.
But soon your musky scent and lusciousness
of sap that never dries will flow again, unseen
yet heard beyond the wind – your voice restored
and supple to the touch of lips that read aloud
upon your skin those heart shaped hopes, evergreen.
Dreams in you are borne in small, untied clusters
near the branch tips, pale pink as embryonic dawns
or with those lavender, pointed lobes conjuring
an infinity of spells – enchanted groves budding
in the sky, from rich, saffron stamens of a light
that overflows itself and impregnates time
- its calyx – of purple love.
Love, purple, pulpous – in clustered fruits
like dreams and, like hopes, heart shaped
- and, like hearts, pulsing, within the flesh
with blood red ripeness, reaped in all flavours
- from sweet to salty, upon the tongue, upon
the kiss, beyond the soul, to a certain rush
of passion and all-over tingles, irresistibly tart.
Loose verse, like pollen carried by breath
or wings, or mused cuttings in hushed, yet verdant
adumbrations, will, poet, burst from you - in
lush, eloquent tree. Yet… no more ambrosial
fruit - no richer poem, or tome, whole, of cadence
and consummated harmony will grow in you, from
you – than the one, or endless ones, gathered, to
plant and multiply, from open-hearted core
- in true seed.

© 2006 Alexandra* ~ OneLight*®