Such tender petals
Open as if to the sun
But teased wide by
An inner heat,
This spreading blossom,
Filled to overflowing
With rising sap,
A desirous nectar,
Sweet upon the tongue
Love's clear syrup
Best reaped and savored
When whipped by
A tumultuous wind as
The dripping bloom
Thrashes to and fro.
Donovan Baldwin