To you, a good day, tenderly nibbled
upon the veins of petals.
Just because you taste of my hunger
and smell of my thirst.
Just because I planted you
tumescent, seed, hot, within
the furrow of breasts and watered
you of spasms, of dew.
I pruned you on the skin, graft
of legs upon buds of hips
and vice of lushness of earth
inmost and deeply ploughed
for orgasm.
Arcadia of teeth, tongue
and you opening the petals
the veins, and I the hunger
the smell on the fingers.
Sap runs fluent, full
of the words that you know
and which I drank.
As one who nibbles on the day
tender within the veins of petals.
