The flower in the sharkâs brain
has been perfect for a million years.
The dragon-bloom blood poppy,
carnal and brief,
tattooed at the base of her spine.
The poppy I cut when the petals fall away
to gather the milky lotus of her tears.
Cut in the heat of the day,
blade spiraled around bulb,
fragrant milk
drying black in the sun.
In my mind. In my need
to possess the dense flowering
in my dreams at her breast.
As the shark hits the swimmer,
shaking him apart in its jaws.
Dreams of power and the perfect release
from pain. The bright
flower of it. Blood
blooming in the water,
swirling in her green eyes
like flame.
The hypnotic petal and silk
of her body moving with mine,
the arc of pleasure between dreams
as the poppy blossoms inside me
with the viciously exquisite clarity of obsession.
Diamond condensed a dimension.
Blood expanding as it freezes.