White Blossom

White blossom seated in a wreath of gnarled fingers;

a prim lodestone harangued by the glaring moans which

in haunting waves run off from parched thirsty mouths.

Their predatory desire brewed from acrid pain skews

her lofty aspirations and turns her ringing laughter

to an idol of shame.

To wistful humility devoted, she withers and bloats

til all her unshed sweet tears are collected in a cuirass

glossed with the colours of her hawkish suitors:

burning ardour and the scorn of the immature.