Cyclamen

This morning
the sun strokes me with the back of his fingers

and I open --
a spread of folds,
blushing pink
-- and all day butterflies land on me

burrowing through curves and creases
into my deepest universe
as they lust after the sweet juice, then
carry away with them,

in their quest for world domination,
and all day
with the playful wind
like a candle flame at dusk

I curl and lean
my slender body of stem
that holds
all that wetness and adventure

gently and softly. So,
here I am:
un-shy, unclosed, honest. And
you? Do you love yourself?

Do you embrace your simple life
and its impulses
to be untamed and sublime for a while
before nothingness keeps its due appointment?

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