fleur fantôme

 

she’s willingly sacrificial

a withering poppy

offering infinite respite

to the soil beneath her

a pretty petal paradox

with an opiate gaze

vibrant citrine femininity

a forgotten little flora

murmuring imaginary anecdotes

in the form of abstract prose

to no one at all

her selfless parasol trembling

in the summers unforgiving heat

often wondering

“why doesn’t he water me?”

 

a. duncan, 2017

 

 

 

 

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Amor et melle et felle est fecundissimus || Love is rich with both honey and venom

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