Some Kind Of Flower

There's some kind of blossom
tangled in my ribs.
Who knows where it sprouted?
God's groin?
This dizzy wheel of splendor
didn't spring out of my subtle body:
I don't have one.
I'm all dark matter with a bittersweet
fermented chocolate tang
of my mother's placenta.
But it’s right here in my chest
between breathing out and in -
a radiance without a name.
I’m just a speck of pollen
on a flaming stamen’s tip
at the center of this
thousand-petaled now.