PURPLE MAGNOLIA


Purple Magnolia open and languish their waxen petals
budding out of a transparent cylindrical vase
sprouting off of an unvarnished wooden spool.

Purple gladiolas hang in the tubular earthen-colored
ceramic Japanese vase hanging on the wall
between the windows.

Purple gladiolas rise in the kitchen on the bookshelf
next to art of the Soviet revolution.

Your bed with the drawers underneath,
so much hidden treasure down below.

Your grandmother's flowered afghan on top,
your nautical blue and white striped comforter coverlet,
your big red rose pillow cases,
your little cream support pillows.

Remembering how we made love last night
(The last line poetic license: it was two nights ago.),
how you let me kiss you,
how I accidentally scratched you, how it hurt down there,
how you let me enter you

plunging into your depth how I could feel your contractions,
how you finished me off inside yourself
whenever I had to let go of everything.


--David Joseph