Bounty

The onset of Spring finds me
engorged with fresh flowers,
their petals shade my vision.

Turning inwards, I watch the
vines of my fertile thoughts
and feel tremors of fertility

coiling through and
out my ears and navel
and every other breach.

Dislodged savory for the suitors
who still wear their chilblains
of Winter like epaulets,

their thin cracked lips,
taciturn and bleeding for my
suckling breasts of green limes.

Knowingly available, my body
awakening with its risen grain that
you seek the tender most fragrance of,

yearning for the still unripe fruit
that hangs high, and would little and
bitter yield to slake one's thirst.