Soft

I think I favor flowers undone, storm flushedand bowed beneath fat drops of tawdry rain, gaudyin aliveness, tended to fullness, sweet smelling tosickness, petals awry so fully I censor them in my mind,seeing in them my own pretty indecency— Because after a long sleep precipitated by migraine, I wakeand risk unfolding myself, unclenched, no nerves ...

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