The hedge-blossom falls amongst the unclothed briars overnight and makes me think there’s snow again. It makes me think I’ve more time with you, in winter, while I see that swarms of insects
weave revival in the blooms and affirm it’s time to mend. Horned cattle mosey round, knowing more than I with coats that burn away to calves in the merlot light, sparring with the hour. The timely
lemon lust of you with her, contented, will make me throw-away, will goad my hyper self dissection in compliance to the floral mockery. There’s a smile round my eyes old and inward, cracking my
insides, defying the empty oak sensation as I know now you’re happy. Walk on till the scent of summer prompts a fall and a way out of change. Live long in her citrusy care and the awe similar save
for bones and for voices, I’m a safe space apart at the turn of you head and I’m left bending kisses to crowns for you have what you want. I can’t be at peace now that you are, though
it’s been my goal and my reason for this waste. I must strive to find my own peace
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