Poem - Night Flowers

Well, I'm a little nervous about posting poetry, but hey, if I'm daring enough to post artwork I can do anything. I wrote this poem a long time ago after walking home on a warm spring night.

Twelve o'clock; midnight:
It is dark.
The familar street
has become a pool of swimming darkness.
It is silent.
The roar of a car can
be heard breaking the still black night.
As I walk,
the tiny pebbles underfoot
press into the soles of my bare feet.
Then I smell
in the darkness
the heavy, rich scent of flowers filling the still air like a cloud.