The dark art of cultivating a Vegetable

With broken earth promises As nature is to love To grow and burst With a hatred of the blossom A becomes but a wage That receives such a grandiose acclamation That all that is paternal Leads to these pretty girls that hold the vine And begs For the babies to grow To flower in the darkness and reveal in daylight Sweet and rounded To have the flesh broken That covered the nakedness Remain magic in fertility And give your offering to no one but the cultivator

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Written by

darrel-weeks

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