Remembering a certain fragrance.

Ode to Honeysuckle

Your pride spills over
a fence in June
fragrance overmatching
the lawnmower fumes
splashing pigments
yellow and green
on crosshatched canvas
of post and steel.
Which bird consumed
that ripened fruit
ferried the seeds to here
to ripen under
the crepe myrtle tree?

I’m haunted
by memory’s taste
those times I played ball
near a vine
bounced off the stuff
for pleasure
embraced by aroma
of leaves and bees.

Then after the game
pluck a flower
pinch the tip
to suck one drop.