I can see why it only takes one
to pollinate the crosshairs,
bring life to the fields,
ignite the fibers nestled on the petals -
only one tiny bullet to hit the mark,
tear open the flesh and bloom there.
The lift-off is homogenous
like a branding of normalcy
I've come to expect this waiting,
the humming bees at their work, cross-breeding
hairy seeds on wind plumes -
but their sterility signals only failure.
Black night hangs heavy with musk,
the rutting successful at last
and it only took one to plant the seed,
cells pleading for release,
aching, punching out of skin -
wet hides barely touching.
Pride, Cycles, Seattle and a Soundtrack
1 month ago