Hybrid

I am half flower, half self; I grow a spathe

to wrap you in a perfumed hood; my roots

spread in your skin, my cells pulse xylem

through your veins. You seek me like a bee,

you bumble the ferment of my smell, butt

at the pollen-stippled core, where spheres

encrusted with soft things wait to latch

onto your limbs. I hold you, ripened, trap

your cries like lacewings in my hair. Into

my mouth falls night-fruit, torn apart, it tastes

of you, such tender inflorescence. Now you

are the flower, and I the bee find I cannot

lift my head, I lap the nectar at your gist,

and drown as your petals close.