from Tulips, by Ana Rossetti:

CYBELE WITH THE ANNUAL OFFERING OF TULIPS

"May my heart burst!

May love at its pleasure

do what it will with my body."

Amaru

Loosening its sheath, the rosy

tulip bud, firm turban,

maddens my blood with rude spring.

Infected with sensual delirium,

my saliva lubricates your thick stalk,

the rigid stem that my hand enthrones,

your tall flower raised in shadowed parks.

Oh lacerate me, vulnerable, pull me down,

fill my mouth with your humid silk.

My breasts close around you like a ring,

I hold them together, a setting for your jewel,

my lips half-open,

and a drop appears on your mauve peak.

--Ana Rossetti, translated by Susan Suntree and Nancy Dale Nieman

************

The Garden of your Delights

Flowers, parts of your body:

I demand their juice.

I press between my lips

the lacerating stem of the gladiola.

I would sew lemons to your torso

and then finger their tips,

hard like the high nipples of a young girl.

Already my tongue knows the smoothest spirals of your ear,

a snail that tastes of adolescent sap

and smells of your thighs.

Between my thighs I hold moist petals.

Flowers, parts of your body.

-- Ana Rossetti, translated by Susan Suntree and Nancy Dale Nieman