Paralytic Poem by Sylvia Plath

The claw of the magnolia... Drunk on its own scents... Very curious.

Such subtlety shines through many of her words, a tragic blue tinge into the dark of fade. I especially love the last stanza, here, a filigree of meaning springs forth from unearthly bulbs only to settle in metalworks. 'Drunk on its own scents' appeals to me most. It sounds so full in the mouth when spoken. Divinely beautiful.