I Prefer Her Bent Over Talking to Flowers

dead-sunflower

Libby ceases advancement,
Leans her ear towards a sunflower’s seeds.
My eyebrows style into a diagram vagina
At the peak of elevated ovaries
Flecks of sweat gleam
Like pieces of forgotten scotch tape
Hung on the wall
Exposed under fluorescent glow.

She begins to narrate
The flower’s secrets.

Explaining in a whisper
Why someone described as yellow
Is akin to cowardice.
(The reason has to do with communism)

I reach for the petals
She bonks the back of my hand
With a love tap. I wear the dissolving
Red splotches with pride.

Thankful to advertise
A spontaneous beauty.

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