How long have I had these flowers?

Tara Campbell

Petals flung brazenly wide,

pistil and stamen erect, waiting for winged satisfaction,

aching for its buzz and thrumming, yearning for its tiptoe hum,

craving its caressing legs, their vicarious union;

with supple tension, anticipating insect-quick agility,

waiting, outstretched a n d   o u t  s  t  r   e   t   c   h    e    d    .

So how long have I had these flowers of yours?

They’ve started jerking off onto my desk,

their earthy, orangey semen floating down,

filtering through the grating of my clock

to coat its inner wires with indiscretion,

fouling accuracy with lurid chalk.

 

And we,

          who time our kisses

          make appointments to hold hands

          and schedule interludes of trust,

          squint into our digital sun:

 

12:00     * * *     12:00     * * *     12:00     * * *     12:00     * * *     12:00

 

You pull me closer, your hands on my hips.

I breathe in lilies

and taste honey on your lips.