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.
