Crown Of Roses Poem by Mark Heathcote

Love exudes a sticky pinesap; it extolls-
a resin that'll encapsulate your soul
love is a bee in a red hibiscus flower.
Drunkenly, sings maybe this is my final hour.

Love is a savant, all-knowing, unexplained
his amber unfastens songs still refrained
stops the sun and the moon spinning on their axis;
banishes all space and time, anything too factious

love is a mantra, nothing Faux pas
a mantra my child shall-I-promise-you alas.

It's neither a beginning nor an end as such.
So, rose gardener Lord, feed me, mulch me
until then, let me dance in the dew-soaked through,
then lock me away in a rosary of mysteries with you.