Is it
A field of stars
Or
A constellation of orchids?

Orchids,
bird wings,
moonlight,
deep sleep,
and your small hands

orchids, three days in the vase,
bent-stemmed and dropped heads hung;
the pollens filter the tabletop with
a coughed out dust across which
noon shade, interrupted by light, grows.
The shrinking water has stained the glass
to darken into a pool of brass and stench.
Above the vase a craze of tiny flies hover
like a troubled thought in a comic strip.

There used to be butterflies
living inside my chest,

but they turned into bats
when it got dark

The bats fed on my blood,
and my chest was their cave

There used to be orchids
blooming,
flourishing,
above my ears and to my short hair

But now I am dead,
the weeping orchid bled

As it withered upon my grave,
and emitted the scent of death and I

Its decayed petals dropped,
like blood from cut veins

The corpse flower,
scentless bloom of death belongs

Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

Your study is thoughtful,

And so are you.

Orchids are white,

Ghost ones are rare,

Mirrors are shiny,

And so is your hair.

Magnolia grows,

With buds like eggs,

My run is long,

And so are your legs.

Sunflowers reach,

Up to the skies,

Sunlight is dazzling,

And so are your eyes.

Foxgloves in hedges,

Surround the farms,

My place is warm,

And so are your arms.

Daisies are pretty,

Daffodils have style,

Your effect is dazzling,

And so is your smile.

A Rose is beautiful,

Just like you.

Hello boy bee,
I'm look so sexyyy,
I smell so sexyyy:-
GOTCHA.
I'm an orchid.
I'm doing ***.
You're so stupid,
Visit another one
Of me.

Don’t judge a
Wildflower
Because it
Is in a field
It might be a rare
Orchid.