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Orchid. I shall call you Orchid. Call me
your fat bumble bee and I will suck dry
your wet parted lips. Call me your oak tree.
Let your hungry mistletoe feed on my
wild sap. Let it dribble across your thigh,
down your chin, all over. The French call this
Soixante Neuf; numbers and all they imply.
You were never good at math; but to kiss
and suck and swallow? Even an orchid
knows to open up for pollen. Even
an oak will bend in the wind. Let us lay
side by side. Let us drink from pure liquid
delight. Let us spend all day, with pollen
and with sap, at what others call foreplay.
memories of my ghost sista 