Foxgloves planted near your bouquet

The veins on your wrist throb exquisitely 

I’m inquisitively gracing your skin

Where the hell have you been

An amorist hates me 

A florist arranges me 

a foxglove planted near your bouquet 

Such a nauseating array 

But I’ll choke back what you say

Creativity blossoms in the early hours,

ellavelluh