Last Blooms of Summer

A hurried burst of 
Grounded flora
Rushes out penultimate blooms.
And the faintest 
Aroma bergamot
Covers the stench of a million tombs
Of love gone by
And hasty statements
And times forgotten by the masses,
Of vulgar unabated grief
Of my proletariat working asses and oxen.
And finally opened,
Finally fertile,
Finally alive and urgent to blow,
I savor their scent,
The stirring last kiss,
Til I breathe the winter’s barren snow.

-jenn long