half a century avoiding the greed
feeding on her scarlet cup
barely tasting her bright flesh
slightly sweet, my fairish aril
years and years of fondling her
slender body, leaves and twigs
immune now to her toxicity
craving now the center seed
fingers a mess, the deadly bite
the heart stops with the pleasure
alive now on the cusp of death
(was I alive before, merely needing)
(Image from nativeplantspnw.com)
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