ATTRACTED TO ROYAL NECTAR

May I quote myself: Know who you are and there you will find yourself.

“Independence - is loyalty to one's best self and principles, and this is often disloyalty to the general idols and fetishes” Mark Twain

Attracted to Royal Nectar

In escalating silence, Madame was significantly bold,
waiting, waiting, obsessing,
on crimson heart beats and blossoming love.

Intended for permanence, her passion jets in, guided
by the wind and wraps her gossamer wings around a
hummingbird’s fluttering heart, leaving her

astounded.

Emerald feathers flush in solemn crucifixion,
her nature leads her, her wings of age define her,
and her hovering pain equals the weight of her tears.

Wings perfectly folded, two black pools stare, refraining
an urge to preen, and search for purple and yellow and
red nectar flowers, an undeniable urge to be her,

unfortunately.

Blue trails of wake crash into passions chest petrifying
the truth that secretly exists, a surprising vortex
of feelings like impressionistic paintings

suspended between the wood and the air
solidifying a hummingbird’s plea and un papillion’s
desires. The two question where their next sip of nectar lives.