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
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
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