Oh Rafflesia

Oh to finally meet you, your visage so divine,

I travel far in meagre frame and find a hidden spot, to peek upon your amble bloom of earthy vineyard wine.

Your petals furl like Grecian drapes upon the forest floor,

like speckled plates of banquet halls each ornately placed, around your centre that festers oddly as if an open sore.

Oh the pungent odour, delightful with repugnance,

I swoon and sway and barely keep my simple modest wit, as your rotten scent palpates the air with delectable abundance.

Your stench allured with furtive finger, and many came around,

like I who sensed a rotting lost carcass sweet, instead I find you with the corpse nowhere to be found.

Oh the dimpled limbs, provision for my praising,

I stride downward through your iris cradle and find that hidden within, and deeper still I'm coddled by your ever soft embracing.

Your sense is grace, my dear Rafflesia.

Alas! What can a humble fly ever offer?

Please burden my wings with your voyage favour and I’ll do my best for you, my love, to spread it far from here to Asia.