To a Pretty Smelling Flower

To Pretty Smelling Flowers

I binge on you, flower; yet I cannot purge you out
You remain persistent, like a weed you spread,
An ill infection, yet your cure I dread.
For to you, I am attached, there is no doubt.

Why this obsession can I not best?
What makes you unlike all the rest,
On whom I have lingered and turned away?
Whose eyes have lit a match of desire
But never ignited that glowing pyre?
Why have you chosen to stay?
I hold you, emptily, in my heart,
Which you have not held from the start.
But I have left you into this garden to germinate.
This love I have let mature and grow,
On what grounds I perhaps shall never know
But on you, my infatuation, if nothing else, grows great.

However, clearly unreciprocated is what I see
For I understand that it should never be
Now that your hand is rooted firmly to another.
Was it all along my own delusion?
Or did you intend me perceive the illusion,
By which me your untamed growth could smother?
I now attempt whatever I must,
To avoid you, my ravenous lust
Yet nothing I do will frighten you off
Steadily, to me you return
And so, incessantly, for you I yearn
My evasion but a minor cough

I binge on you, flower; yet I cannot purge you out
You remain persistent, like a weed you spread,
An ill infection, yet your cure I dread.
For to you, I am attached, there is no doubt.