Captive ferns caress finger-leaves
across a name etched in office glass.
There is a contract
between the enslaved and the master.
Maintaining nature.
Equal parts water.
Sunlight is rationed.
The fern has been misted.
The pinstriped tiger keeps his "tail"
coiled inside tailored slacks,
inside a Herman Miller habitat
until it's time to "attack".
Lips curl back and reveal
painting tongues against laptop sex.
The fern has been misted by the master's sweat.
Equal parts water and sunlight
in exchange for executive foliage.
There is a contract.
Nature is maintained.
"Secretary, I won't be taking calls
when you see the Venetian blinds are drawn closed."
Soil flies like an arterial spray,
tiny beads of vermiculite.
Leaves indented by human teeth.
