Spiraling to soil in deep, concentric circles,
Yesterday's words seem to bloom as
Daffodils or Sunflowers- Roses left unattended,
Neatly kept under glass hoods, waiting patiently for years;
Every new syllable seems to drip with intoxicating sensuality
Yes, a soft whisper for two: felt and never heard
-
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Little Spud In The Big Apple 