Feeling slightly sinful, since the star magnolias now blooming
belong to unknown neighbors, fallen and fading blossoms
littering their lawns, awaiting lawn crews
with their noisy leaf blowers, not silent rakes,
as the neighborhood seems to need pristine appearances.
I start my mornings with this on my mind
and later wish for forbidden midnight forays
knife in hand, for just a branch or two
or three, all so temporary and tempting.
Through these old white lace curtains, I feel ridiculously
wrong, just in the wanting, although my soul
sings, sighs, and shouts with clarity, knowing
my desire to steal magnolias would only be
to give them away.
Would you perhaps, for love, not have
the same torn wanting?