Vadvirágok – Wildflowers
Crocus yields to a strange
flowering bud; vivacious in
close up and carnal;

age is a wildflower,
wildflower rosary,
religion ten years in the grave already.

She wears a pelt collar, tucks
a daisy-weed through the holes
in her ear, empty of diamonds,
swollen from a sedentary itch,
she believes that color is all
you need to know about another person,

all there is -
the vintage wildflower
scent that comes naturally
to the skin; a harpsichord
in an otherwise electrified room,
sipping red wine and barking
into a broken German,
convinced once that age was
ageless, faded as she is now
into the cluttered room.