The Rotting Flesh Flower

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She opens when she wants, closes when the spirit moves her

Swirling doors like petals swept aside by the grim grins of stardust particles

worrying her frayed velleities.

She opens once all the roses and lilies have closed for the dream hours,

When no butterfly can drink of her heavy nectar.

Overflowing in her bladder, it kills her not to give

But come the blinking hours, the lavender sky fading to melon rind to bluebell’s eye

When all the pretty flowers awaken and extend

Shaking hands with the sun and marrying the wind

pollen giggling along bees’ knees,

She cannot stay exposed. She’ll close, exhausted

by the silent black night

Needing sleep more than sunlight, her petals lock like doors

Inside, her color pulses, firefly bright, waiting to live

While everyone else is dead to her screams, she sings and drizzles

tiny sweet drops to drown the dewy grass.

Image credit:

By Pranav011 at English Wikipedia, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=41796006

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