Passionflower

The passionflower bursts its bud and blooms
so quickly that my inattentive eye
looks past the surge of tiny tendril plumes
and petals throwing open to the sky.
My eye regards the tumult of the bud,
expanding like a universe at play
(a pulsing heart with passion for its blood)
as paltry since it lasts a single day.
And yet my heart and eye have felt your thrust
into the perfect bloom of passion’s kiss,
and watched the storm winds stir the bloom to lust
and open—wet, inviting sweet abyss.
The flower’s scent was on the air by day.
But yours, my love, will come by night and stay.