flower show crowds
but in the face of an orchid
and while we’re at it, this:
Talking about sex was something
you didn’t do. That’s why my old aunt
could not abide orchids with their
overt sex all crinkled and fleshy,
their come-hither tongues, their
silken throats oozing with nectar
and open, their scent like seduction.
On my veranda just now
Dendrobium Kingianum hangs out
her many pink tongues, the nectar
of her desire flirting with spring breezes.
Her flowers are so tiny even my aunt
could look into them for a moment.
Or maybe not; it’s a matter of scale.