The rain drips
off the flower pedals
As I perch on my porch,
Feeling as gray as the sky,
Part of me aching to be
As open as the flower is
Or receptive as the leaves
On which the rain glistens
A moist kiss on the tips
Oozing down into the core
Where the bees in sunlight
Drive their stiff stingers
In their hunt for pollen
With which to make their honey,
The rain drips on my lips
As if I have sipped nectar
And still ache for me,
My stiff singer aching
For places I should not go,
Yet need to reach,
Need to feel the soft pedals
Around me,
Consuming me,
As I consume the flower
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