Oh, my body grows from a stem,
fragrance and leaf.
the winds sway my heart upright,
and your touch
before you pull,
I await calmly–my executioner
my pollen smells you woman,
the tender finger-puller of love.
Behold: I die for your eyes
and beauty you see within me,
my petals and colours —
till finally nothing
but dried wick-of-stick.
Everything that seeds taught me
my childhood years so nameless,
and your tears like glistening water,
christen me after I have died!
When you bury me — made radiant
by your shining hair and bosom,
the altar which you have crowned
by your lightly showering tears!
:: 08-31-2014 ::