Ars Botanica

To bear you in mind.
To be jammed in your saffrons.
The abasement of these ditches
of your smolderings.
Of your abasement.

Follow this in:
we go weatherward?
is this tenable?

The roothairs fuse
for the openings
to shoot from.
You leaf
on the potentate’s dome?
You remnant
in need of finishing?
You gilt
and swift execution?

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