Valentine’s Fist

World that would love me: Bring me fist fights in the front-gardens, brains exploding like bright red roses. Bring me knuckles as brilliant as buttercups, pumped with the ecstasy of illegal drugs. Bring me shivers of orgasm along my fine hairs, like a sudden bluebell bed amidst dark forest floors. Bring me blood, violently along a vein, as violet as an iris. Bring me kisses as innocent as a drop of water, hinting of honey, weeping from the lip of an orchid.

The sugar of chocolates will do for other fat bodies, and an over-priced average meal makes a statement – but not for me. If dare you come, best of all, bring me the buds, curled up as tight as fists, yet to be known as flowers. Unaware they will unfold into the coming summer sun, undone by the laws of nature, or by an other.