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Petunia

A petunia.

A wild, booming, wonderful petunia.
In a thick black shock of clouds and smoke,
It is the only thing I can’t un-soak.
In a weary daze of mind and space,
I work my eyes, my gaze Until
I see it, upon(in?) its clever grace.

My only fear as of yet,
Is just of that singular terrible threat,
That it may never happen again,
Or yet,
That it may, only then,
I’ve missed it;

Forget.



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