A mass of contradictions is Gorse:
Keenly fragrant on a warm day, yet
Barbed to the touch.
Within, an entire world once wound through
That fragrance? Purest Vanilla, with something else entirely.
A visceral funk. Arousing.
Beckoning the lusty.
To a most secluded of bowers-
when with a lover.
Hidden by enclosing blooms amongst
that heady vanilla.
Or not so vanilla, when rolling on to thorns
(accidentally or with intent).
Tight-wound boughs muffle noise of
Then still conceal sated embrace,
safe from the thorny world.
Copyright Tom Tide 2017