Laced with the smell of her
What is that familiar perfume?
Trussed up by my
Jello shots of the mind
Imagination mine
You Swelling
With her narcotic
Overripe fruits clinging
To both your vines
Hers growing larger
More grotesque than
Mine, my own perverse
Arthritic knots
Daphne turned into a tree
To escape the arms of Apollo
But your trunk is entangled
By one who wishes to be
Caught and cultivated by you
In her hothouse of glass
Butterfly pinioned
Trapped by the act
Of her own will
And you?