"Hybrid"

2002

Pollen on your tongue
Is only the beginning
Of swallowed pride.

Curl up on my petal-bed
Its dust is just the spore
You hanker for.

Try my orgiastic seed
to actuate your dreams.
My thorn, your need.

Breathe me! Oh, I permeate,
Inebriate. I suffocate.
Can you, this once,

observe me as my weed
casts its spell on what
you call your soul?

Look I'll make a trade:
my sepal's web for
nothing but your wings.

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