Swirl, then swallow the seeds –
you will grow into grace,
la professeur de botanique instructs,
anemonae fingers waving towards me,
unaware of the juddering waves of heat
between my thighs. Her pale hair bleeds
into ether as her left hand falls into a mudra
of plucking, teases the flower’s fourchette.
Her mouth opens in concert with petals
wide in brazen exposure on a pedestal
that lifts it to her longing. She folds
into its heady bouquet.
~ ~ ~
I lock my hands over my pleasure,
muffle the larval throb of last night’s
pollination, harmonized to my music teacher’s
Accent! Attack! – tender, stinging, as he draws
his bow strung with his long black hair
across my waist, leaves tracks that glow
and reflect his ready want. I shed
my chiffon carapace, gasp as he whips
the spiraled straps from my thighs,
tethers his desire to my dreams, plucks
my seeds, deposits rosins of greed.
Diamonds fly from my mouth.
Our tendrils wrap till dawn, tremolos
thrumming on – stamen...stigma….
Mikki Aronoff’s work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Lake, EastLit, Virga, Love’s Executive Order, bosque and Intima: A Journal of Narrative Medicine, and elsewhere. A New Mexico poet, she is also involved in animal advocacy.
The Ekphrastic Review
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