Have You Not Seen It?

In my heart, I have a flower. It's scented. Have you not seen it? Have you not yet—found that bower? Not pricked-one-forefinger on it. It lies beside a stream, winding its way backwards, to a garden, said one time to be called Eden. Love, I'm not just eulogising. Find that bower, follow its scent right to the flower's heart, still rent -on loving you, it's a serpent that's fanged but lovingly verdant. Bitten, you've emitted to a death so, enigmatic the world pales and like a honeybee beneath sepals, amassing nectar bales. You shall find the first flower borne somewhere withstood the gaze-of-love you might think this flower-lowborn -found, but there's nothing sweeter above.