Compressed Emotions

I had met the flower 
after a longtime. 
The rose. 

And its fragrance 
hauls me to childhood 
after the big dying. 

A tender, scented dream 
will touch me, 
to become a poet. 

Lying on dewed grass 
you think, a promiscuous 
microbial libido begins. 

The explosion will eject 
free verses, waiting in silence- 
to witness- the April fall.