I flew to the mountains to snap
the paeonia from its roots
and sucked out the pollen from
her dragon-tail petals.
Rubbing the lobed leaves against my
cheek, the sickly aroma fused with my
sweat and clung to me

like the bitter after-scent of sex.
The red flowers bobbed about
in the wild air and the fruit
fell about me like hail; whipping at
my face like angry birds with
corrugated beaks. I screamed a
silent cry of fright

and shielded my face.
It was over after a few
fleeting moments and my fingers
opened like the claws of a crab.
There was nothing left of the plant
but a few bird-feet branches
and a rotting scent in the air.

I took my branch in my hand and
rubbed the flowers across my forehead.
The wounds did not heal but I at last
felt strong, like the warrior, and on
returning home, sat beside the koi-pond
tranquil, at last, but never
truly content.