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Rafflesia
Do not stare,
for its blankness empties me.
Do not speak,
for its bluntness stabs me.
Only when your eyes clap
and lips cling on so dearly
I shall approach.
And when I approach
like a blood-red rafflesia
amongst the delicate roses
my stench may encroach
on your velvety noses.
Oh rafflesia
The gash from your dagger,
unsheathed and unleashed
an inch from my breath
a day from my death.
Oh rafflesia
The burn from your love,
scorching and singeing.
Love so brilliant
Yet darts past me singing.
A tune so pensively radiant
Alas, it was not meant for me.
Oh rafflesia
The scab follows the burn,
like a long night about to dawn.
An uninvited guest,
in a mid-summer night.
The sleepwalker,
refusing to yawn.
My drooling lips point at you.
And when our eyes clap
and our lips cling on so dearly,
let us kiss.
Only then
the rafflesia's disgusting lips
may embrace
the rose's divine splinters.
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I was inspired by the flower rafflesia, which is so disgusting and repellent that everybody avoids. Yet the most subversive of the rafflesia sings to revive his memory of a sorrowful love.