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Showing posts from March, 2018

Flower Buds on Finger Tips

I loved her in the the lonely way that the earth begs for warmth a hope for spring and bursting. I offered her flower buds on my finger tips ripe with waiting for kiss to bloom. I folded and unfolded my petals, slick with morning dew eager for her gaze please, look inside me. I carved out a space into which we both could grow I prayed for harvest and hid daydreams in the hollows of my neck.