Mandragora

A growth. A cancerous cell, a hallucinogen.
Twittle me pink and fill me with folly,
oh little-loved, lustering fiend.
The sailing ships went, sent the words in pursuit
but grow on you did, filamentous root,
grow on and on into blood and the marrow.
I shrieked if I saw, if I smelt, if I sucked
you crusted in languor, and split me asunder.
A twitch on the wind. A pollen-head bursting.
So smother me silent, unravel my protons,
oh deleriant, violet angel.
The aeroplanes pitched, ditched the cabbies to boot
but grow on you did, filamentous root,
grow on and on into blood and the marrow.