Honeysuckle (Lonicera Japonica)

Yellow tapestry of time climbing

vines, voices whispering.

Honeysuckles called out to us

in the wild woods of childhood.

Their sweet spring smell pulled us

towards velvet-bell-shaped ropes.

We removed pistils and stamens

to find that well; golden sweetness –

like hope at the base of all

growing things.

Honeysuckle dripping sun

drops clung to our young tongues

and finger tips. Lips

tingled with liquid sweetness.

This bright secret pleasure passed

child to child, lip to lip.

Golden treasure pulled

from this yellow-white sea

flower by flower. How many hours

passed between our small exploring

fingers.

What did we know about stamen

or other named parts, no matter.

We knew to tap the sweet sap,

how to map out a path to the inside,

lap it up.

Before we knew too much

this much we knew –

there was pleasure

in even the smallest

living things.