it struck like something
kin to gore, staring at

the flagrant way
of the bud, angled
fertile at the sun

an expansive, selfish sense
so full, the pregnant vagrant
preening in the grass

with thick stalk coursed in veins
the labor it takes to pump out
in gust on indefinite plain

eager, and hard,
all things intimate desire
unborn and kicking
growing cramped in a coil
to become you

being in you makes
me more of a man