It

 

I do not think you know

Or can begin

To comprehend the stifling

Sticky-skinned heat

Of Florida July

Where my love blooms

Like blood

Curling from the mouths of

Alligators

Seeps into the soil

Pained

Desperate to give

A little stream

Doing no-one any

Good flowers

Do not need erythrocytes

They blossom in the sun

Lapping

At the gold

I am too cold for them

Too academic

Author's Note

Think what you will.