Where his places bloom

(a Sonnet)  
 
The flowers that he sends are in his voice,  
Are scented by his words that trail behind.  
The way I'm drawn to buds are by my choice,  
And on the path where petals do I find.  
 
How tempting colors reflect afternoon,  
The flavors are perfumed of summertime.  
To imitate what his scent is in June,  
And never from the cold of winter's rhyme.  
 
Distract me, my dear love, let me believe,  
That this, your garden, one day will be mine.  
To bathe in incense in which I relieve,  
To offer unabashed my essence thine.  
 
Surrounded by bouquets of all your gifts,  
Of which I'll swoom from, as I take a whiff.  
.