Force your flowers to fuck by proxy,
secure a prolific harvest for my reaping,
plentiful zucchini, straight neck squash.
I break my morals by playing god,
I play god by becoming an animal.
I am a honey bee on your wilting lip, 
petals yield and enter. I’m Cupid, detached.
I fake my place in the natural cycle, favoring
my benefit alone. You fruit for my taking.