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i couldn’t call you smoke, gaseous,
(though you are organic by definition)
for you [(we)re] mostly the milky ringlets
of ethanol drops in water, aqueous
always reacting

breaking bonds
without combustion
burning tight-rope bridges
you could barely balance
with the released chemical
energy and unknown power
of your lips sepa/r/ating
to smi(rk?)le

so(me)one pruned your boughs back
so coldly
your flower dreams grayed
to sustain your verdancy

aren’t you tired?
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