Poetry

banksia embrace

17 July 2018

I am not used to the lychee pink sunrise,
The sound of galahs before 11am or
the sunlight whispering
for me to walk into their heart.

But I could do it, you know?
Take the banksia in my hands and
vase it, for the chance
of sucking honey from the world
as we bow to one another.

Open up a flower shop where
the only thing I taste is the scent of
bottlebrush and protea, that
beckon me from darkness
into the soft touch, of life.


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