The Asian bouquet
I gave you the other
day,
have just exploded! ! !
the purple stamen
engorged
with a sort of
sticky pre-come,
when I got up
and walked
in earlier today,
it was active,
or like they had been playing...
sweaty and dribbling
over dinner mats,
a feisty sight of inebreation,
the colour so vibrant
with a pungent swell,
with sensous sharp whiffs,
perpetually screaming -
their stems off!
I am this flower,
or deflowered,
we all in bliss,
yet extend some
other way;
consumating eyes,
get up closer, sniff us,
take a whiff!
we need to enter
the old mesh,
we don't sleep,
but pulsate! ! ! !
behind our soft green
slopes of skin,
we are in and out
of this,
pollinations of licorice night,
there is nothing,
but to invite -
our smell into your bed of
everyday perfumeries,
so gorged have we been,
denying so many attacks,
on such secretive steps,
trying to drown out,
this upright defection...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem