Night Play... Poem by GRANT FRASER

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...