Anthophilous

If I could copy your body,

I’d put the spares in concentric circles.

In the middle, perfect pairs of thighs,

gathering like dense, secreting stems.

Abundant svelte arms and slender

fingers

heartily blossoming toward a torrid star.

Nothing less than a goddess bouquet,

I’d shove my nose deep in its center,

inhaling the perfume and grandiose.

I’d touch its golden pollen to my

tongue,

tasting wildflowers and natural danger,

a combination worthy of endless eons.

When I deemed the arrangement

flawless,

I’d place the ladies in an ornate vase,

taking care to display their finest

features.

And once I spritzed my prize with love,

I’d present this impeccable posy to you.