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The Bush
March 21, 2008
I bigger version of my backyard bumble.
Your shadow back tracks and creates a smell. We regather for you to slip a blossom into my hand when it searches. I want to put the pink bloom in my brain, but theres no stem. I want to make it my ear, a vibrant soft trumpet, but the petals shimmy and crumble-they have other plans. I gasp but you say "whatever happens happens" and so I agree to leave a trail of joy instead of a mess of regret.
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