you ever feel your petals thicken
and contract, as when a sea-strolling
octopus idly jets with closing arms?
that is, when wrinkled tips flare and fruit
first realizes closure, full of not-yet
but empty of nectar opaque flesh new
as legs to a lamb in amniotic shivers
when letting go shimmers
on the summer horizon
and each day shortens the work
holding and extending sugars
genitals aspiring to the navel
of that bombshell whose six sparks
seduced Spring, when skin weathers
and breathing ever heavies?
no, just me?