Morning Beads Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

Silver eyes of dew
peek at me,
as I walk through

a sprawling garden
of a thousand
leaves and buds.

Lips of dew
hold tight to leaves'
stretching cheeks

and hang on
roundish and oval
ribbons of flowers

in air's skin of mist
and muscled fog.

Dawn's hands
of dew glue
to mid-morning's
lace of stretched air

spraying me
with a hundred lips,
their mouths of dew

forcing silver kisses
and fondling
strokes on me.

Until I'm entirely
beaded and threaded
by tiny crystal
seeds and pearl balls

from juniper leaves
and goldenrod flowers
spreading out arms
for brushes and hugs.
.

(ii)

O shrubby flowering
trees, you wave
jade leaves
and scarlet flowers

in the crooning wind
to sprinkle
more crystal beads

and tiny
alabaster balls
to roll down right
to my waist.

(iii)

Spray me
with more metallic
and grey
and pewter balls
and beads

to roll down
my plastic jacket
in strings
of clear quartz.

Hurl off and flip down
more agates
and moonstones

to adorn
me for the spiraling
and galloping
sun-rayed party.

But I'm growing
too wet with beads
and balls of dew

and rolling
drizzles of gems
pulling me down
to my ankles.

You glaze and crochet
me into a dandy of jewels,
but I'm too wet
to plant myself

into a cushioned seat
at the crystal party.