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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"She would fill endless notebooks with stories about the characters in her life, their impressions, words, friends, lovers, inspirations, fantasies. She spent her days dreaming up worlds where they fit together in visions; the if only, the never again, the someday. Those who knew her best would describe her as a creature with a clear and sometimes painful sense of herself; furious with ideas and convictions, to a point that she frightened love away with discernment and a relentless strength of character."

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