The pink flower mantis always remembers
his freckled purple orchid and her petals
which held raindrop
full with dewy fortunes
for his praying hands.
His eyes, head crystallized too,
beaded purple petals – oh, sweet aliens
they are here and wild. He pulls
on the stamen, those two twisted tongues
from pursed dark lips,
against the inner walls of her mouth
makes her hum like windchimes
but they both pretend
it was bells
on the tips of temples.
His toothy hand
perforated and snapped at
too hard and splattered
citrus across his sorry face. What a shame;
She wasn’t dying but only half
His eyes turned black and cried
in their almond coffins. The same hands
which played and prayed
to and in her
tender fly skin.
Artwork by S.K Garcia, “Untitled”.