He elected one of her many inflorescences. It peeped out of her womb like a phallus.
With bare hands he gathered her young flowers. He was gentle but firm.
With split rattan he tied her into a bundle. Tight and straight and neat.
Soon her soft springy flowers stiffened. She swelled of his constrict.
With a keen knife special for the purpose he cut her. A slice clean at the tip of her bundle.
She wept and he caught her tears. With a cup that concealed her wounds.
He will return at dusk and again at dawn. Each time he risks his life for her tears.
Tears neither of heaven nor of earth. But of the libations between.
Fatima Lasay, San Roque
Friday, February 7, 2014