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.