As the lonely, blooming sun ascended
like an Arnica Cordifolia
– its heart-wrought petals as familiar
to my botanical mind as your scent –
we picnicked among the fairyslippers
that flourished, purple; the bulbosa brand
plucked and passed from toe to tanned orchid hand,
your eyes as blue as the virgin’s bower.
When the wilting sun began to descend,
the Castilleja Miniata scarlet
paintbrush blossomed in my olive fingers,
made photosynthesis against your skin;
the specked chlorophyll in your irises
glazed with dew and formed a melting chrysalis.
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