Twirling petals form circles of ships in a regatta,
Dancing with each other at the edge of dawn.
Out of luscious cream flows a crimson river,
Of love or strife she does not know.
The clerodendrum opens hungrily
Gulping at the fresh air above,
Her life source a constant change of air and sunlight, each parting
As the white flower parts her mouth, revealing her lavish tongue.
A tongue soft and silky smooth with sweat breath that rises warmly to greet the atmosphere.
Her viney leaves wave away, revealing the scent of summer heartache that longs only for a taste of belonging, to be scooped up into one’s arms.
But of this love she will never know,
As her wilting leaves encase a rotting tongue that speaks only of hurtful words,
And her vines grow spikes the size of skyscrapers,
And her sweat breathe sours into morning dew,
They will ask her bleeding heart, what became of you?
