I know you, she whispers.
You want my blood.
You long to suck my sweetness dry.
So now you gouge a hole,
connect me to your hunger with tubes.
And you do not love me
even as my leaves paint themselves
red and yellow and pastel death.
I can’t help but bleed for you,
drip, drip, drip,
downhill all your way,
in limp sunset, chilly dawn,
the frugal warm of midday.
You leave me alone to blackness,
to mocking moon, self-absorbed stars,
and wretched coyote-howl.
And all the time my wounds are open,
my sap’s your nectar,
bottled by your dreams.
