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Feb 2013
there are words in me always there blood is at my lips

****** burning

to release

the distillation of their sting
into such sweet pollen
a whole garden might
from them stagger
into finite blithe
smoothly muslined
night

            

                  




                                                                      crocus poppy thistle
PK Wakefield
Written by
PK Wakefield
  1.4k
   Tilly, Md HUDA, Bruised Orange and Julia
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