in my morning shower i discovered i’d a flower in my ear. it was tight so i said “bloom” but, drenched near drowned, this flower couldn’t hear. i set it out on my dresser to dry, and went about my day; when…
petals peel away and fall to ground. from close enough, from small, they make a sound as they floatumble through air, come to rest on grass and soil and root. the first and second reserve the rhythm, and in their beat the…
they say it in the quiet hour, whispering: there is a flower. in almost all the worlds it’s red as rising mercury is tinted, red as [s]lips would flush to whisper all the words at which eyes’ glints have hinted. for this…