A flock of statues, breathy with instinct, are hiding, bare.
Near perfect silence. Sand flows, hands tick, and pass the hours
Quick as they are loud. Time is trapped inside this hold, this lair;
Sunless, vacant, void; the most important place for flowers.

Crying out for pleasure, for love, howling “Doctor, Doctor!”
Nefarious, warm in the ecstasy of a princess,
Muzzle-down in the petals, a most vigilant proctor.
Swollen pistils aglow in the glory of proboscis...

Slithering below, dipping deep into the reservoir.
Frenzied, fearsome, feminine sculpture, physician at arms.
Automatic, almost haploid. Breathing slow, dressed for war,
Screaming for acceptance with whiskey and female charms.

Drenched in tears, soaked and sticky, everything is silence.
A rising sun, gleaming with seductive malevolence.