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Darling, Sarracenia, I found
You amongst bog and rocky
Outcroppings, struck dumb
That such glory flowered
In a meager soil. You stood
Alone, no neighbours, neither
Rose nor nasturtium for those
Were not the bougainvillea
Lands. A stranger to your
Parts, I learned you succeed
Where others perish. Unaware
Of your pitfall traps, I would
Tumble to all of them.
When you vowed to digest me, I
Thought it fancy talk. You
Showed the operculum covering your
Opening, and I entered like a pilgrim,
A penitent, a prisoner long without,
And reveled in the mucilage. Who
Could have resisted when from
Your peristope nectar flowed. And
I was trapped. That
Sweetness being coniine, same
Found in hemlock.
And the way out sealed
By thorns and tendrils.
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