Orphrys

Perhaps Black-eyed Susan?
It is all visual with her.
His Rudbecia daisy
common enough,
but clearly marked
by the targeted void
of a black circled heart.

Or Voodoo Lily, dirty, earthy,
wrapped in the purple and black
of rotting flesh?
Sweet, but she stinks
and makes him think of death.

Or tonight, Lady Slipper?
His fragrant Cypripedium
makes him feel quite kind.
More rewarding,
refined; he could escape
the endless tedium
with her chemical delirium;
just be himself,
unwind.

But tonight,
he is not after the real thing.
All he wants is the smell of Orphrys,
her olfactory pheromones,
her flamboyant lip, a painted body
made up just for him.

Does he know,
while he is in her chamber,
that later, his certain female
will also go to her,
find her perfume
and collect it from her dying bloom
just to win him with it?

There is choice and no choice.