Becoming Venus

At an almost forgotten time

she was a Psychotria Elata,

performing a flower's duty:

appear pleasing,

and pollinate.

Not a worldly care given

for what lies underneath

her seductive bracts.

The bees came and went,

and so they left

once strong style, bent.

Roots damaged,

and most heinous of all,

sweet pistil, ravaged.

So from her pink lips she grew,

the sharpest thin tendrils,

on that carnivorous day.

And unknowing male hunters,

greedy pleasure seekers,

had now become prey.

Her allure surpassed

only by her lethality,

she resides.

With the lips of a hooker,

and the beauty of Venus;

a trap waiting to be sprung.