Secret Gardens

She said I had given her a garden
dripping with scent that made her
heady heart mix elixir into songbirds and butterflies,

and I said it made sense that love makes gardens,
landscaping her breasts with my tongue,
she, arching a bridge over manmade rivers,
sliding me down to her quiver of lips.

She moaned too loudly for the thin walls
and told me to return nightly and make stars.

A Secret Garden, when love wants to sing
from the trees - I ploughed my heart and soul,
while she changed the lock and key.

I wonder if that wildness
is now all bordered straight; if honeysuckle
still climbs the walls, and is loved as much
by the green fingered gardener
with the key to the wooden gate,

because the heart fingered lover
wouldn't want it any other way,

neither, ever again, to fall for a garden,
unable to be gay!