Bees hum around
The dead roses
Being strung
Into garlands,
The flower-seller
Has kept aside
Two of the best blossoms for me,
She knows what I prefer ---
Something not fully awake
Something between bud and flower
Something wanting to be loved
Yet not wanting to be violated
As I walk away from the heady fragrance
With a half-flower planted in my hair
The bees like eyes
Follow me unrequited
Drawn by the smell of death
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nothing but poetry
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