Blumen! Blumen! Überall Blumen! Mehr Gewächse in den Kommentaren. Die Titel zu den Bildern stammen von mir, die englischen Verse von Rosemary Drescher, Richmond-upon-Thames.

The protected children of roses understand the love of the coconut palm, how it packs its fruit in double rough husk against the day of their fall.

Mimikry missglückt.

The bitch is in heat; cats under a straw moon. Proboscis, tickling, bloom. Deep down, roots and earthworms intermingle.

Das Ende des Heliotrops.

Put off the royal purple, the season is over for monarchs and admirals. Put on the earth blown gown.

Noch Hoffnung.

When love dries up in times of famine lust takes over, the last dropping nectar, the urgent ask of the next generation.

Die Fleischblume, Metzgers Liebling.

Hydrangea lips, the tinged kiss of the elderly, thirsty and humble. Drying up is so hard to do.

Mediterran.

In competition, it is a race to redden. The winner gets eaten. The two of us, assembled on the same line, are trained and inwardly thorny.

Exquisiter Kadaver.

And fragrance is timed to decompose, the naked hip will cast away and reconstruct the rose.

Leuchtet auch im Dunkeln.

Falling in love, that sweet, spiked, living feeling; eye-driven, full on scent and caressing, tongues and singing, and fleetingness.

Es ist voller Sterne.

All over the cluttered cup and dome of this universe stars rise and detonate in careless faith that the whole world is watching.

Alien planet.

First born of the year, wrapped sunny side up at the time of lambing, attending calves and foals. Underground the new leaves prepare to set off cantering.