magnolias

my devotion for you has lasted longer than magnolias
and it was less pristine than their petals—
forgive me if lust wilts my heart but you are far less innocent than i
—still, its decaying scent haunts the leathery remains
beneath the tree outside my window and the wrinkled pages
of my notebook—how many poems i scrawled, moon-eyed and word-drunk
on the slope of your shoulders, your amber-eyed glances and october smiles
—funny how they still smell sweet