Bulbs and blossoms, suddenly popping like bulging zippers or slowly spreading into sweet lips
Warm rain that tastes like a woman, melting outer layers into latex and Unavoidable Obscene Green bursting with that fresh scent of sex on clean sheets
It's enough to drive one mad...
I itch for hot dirt pulsing with seeds, and the juicy hieroglyphics left by smashed grass on stained backs
When every busy anthill mimicks the points of a girl's shirt, my fingers become wysteria groping a budding dogwood, eager enough to dig into skin and smother a gasping stranger.