In her own words...



Pollen on your tongue
Is only the beginning
Of swallowed pride.

Curl up on my petal-bed
Its dust is just the spore
You hanker for.

Try my orgiastic seed
to actuate your dreams.
My thorn, your need.

Breathe me! Oh, I permeate,
Inebriate. I suffocate.
Can you, this once,

observe me as my weed
casts its spell on what
you call your soul?

Look I'll make a trade:
my sepal's web for
nothing but your wings.


About this work

“Hybrid” was first published in Solo: A Journal of Poetry, no. 5 (2002), p. 159.