Lady Wisteria
The time has arrived:
all season I have draped myself
along your veranda
waiting for the familiar stir
of birds as they rustle up a nest.
I make an entrance,
preen with green tendrils
then, impatient for attention,
send forth my plump trump:
purple skirts shaped to hang and dangle
just out of reach; fragrance
reminiscent of sweet linens
stored in heat and silence
of an ancient closet.
Someone has opened the door.