0 Honeysuckle Breath

From behind the barn
our sumptuous treasure grew,
that naked white flower,
perched like a trumpet
against our lips,
allowing us to suckle
its pure nectar.
Our
honeysuckled breath,
envied by pollinating
creatures,
from whom our sweet gold
had been stolen.
We turned to see
the red sky,
darkening,
hearing the voices
of elders call.
We left mildly satisfied,
yet vowing to return
to finish claiming
our pirated nectar
another day.

--A'anna O., 47