Morning Glory

Blue-fire trumpet
perking her young velvet,
little blossomed bud
new & blue-brite kind,

strung noble on her vine.
Plucked, not plumped-up
or blushed
fully Heavenly yet.

Blue-Whirling flame
of hot-cool Heaven fire.
Royal & sweet hot-oiled,
delicately spread—
open

for the inhale of morn.
Petal peeled back,
downcast
blues lighting leaves &
fading,

then picked again,

for this.

Photo Credit: CFlo Photography Flickr via Compfight cc

Written by 

Alexandra Meehan is a neurodivergent poet and poetry editor residing in Gainesville, Florida. Alexandra earned her BA in English from the University of South Florida in Creative Writing.She has mentored lyricists and has worked as a professional writer and as a creative director. Alexandra enjoys watching foreign films, cultivating carnivorous plants, and painting. She is enamored by wordplay and has a lifelong obsession with Emily Dickinson. Alex's work has appeared in Feminine Collective and Rhythm & Bones Lit. She has a forthcoming poetry book. Follow Alexandra on Twitter @LexMeehan

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