poetry photography by Maria Camillo
Crocus.......Spent.......Passion
Crocus Deep blue curls in Protective and fierce Am I fragile? Crush me Grind me into gravel Blue petals still command your eye Touch me I wilt and close Around a pungent, filament heart You will not, cannot Walk away Without the scent of saffron Clinging to your fingertips
Spent I shot an arrow into the air And a shattered feather fell to earth I hurled a stone into the water And these quiet ripples washed my feet   I aimed this vibration for your ear And was gone before the echo called   My fingers are sure, My touch is sure My voice is sure, My worn heart is not   But I follow its trajectory Willing slave to its insistent course   Because you ask me to allow it I yield to the siren call and sweat   I am flung to perilous extremes I bath in the muck of lonely depths	I open my mouth to sweet poison And lay bare my flesh to tears and stings   Wet and spent I fall into strange beds And wake Lethean and compliant   You watch, frightened of what would happen If one day you simply took my place
Passion I am consumed. I do not need food. I am possessed and do not find sleep. I am breathless swimming in air. I am pursued and in pursuit and need no wings to fly. I am falling, constantly falling and hoping there is no net. I am driven, sustained, suspended and ignorant of time. I am reaching, constantly reaching for the fingerprints of God. I am willing and blind, aching and gripped, unleashed and undone. Heart pounding like a thoroughbred, I do not need a map. I do not need applause. I do not need money. All I need All I need All I need is you.
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