From: Alice Said


(Tuber magnatum)

Pungent, ripe,
your chemistry brings rapture,
a need to unearth elation;

the aroma –
not fragrant, not perfumed
but provocative,

worming its way through
grains of silt, of sand,
unconcerned about scandals on Fifth Avenue,
bills changing hands under moonlight.

What matters
is innocence,
the spell that makes
all nostrils flare,
pheromones run frantic
with raw, irrational passion

But there is no hurry.

Deep in the forest,
undetected, concealed,
you relax – soaking up
pure bliss,
carefully sliding your tendrils
through darkness,
wrapping the roots of life
with delicate threads of silk

like a shroud.

Credit: First appeared in the Broad River Review: 50: 192.