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29–08–21
you cannot tether a free spirit
you cannot saddle a wind horse

you don’t have to tell me
darling

that chasing el sol
beats
watching the seasons
but

when sprouts spring
and blossoms bloom
with words like petrichor

the world exploding from grey to green
rewarding you for all your suffering

and when the leaves begin to fall
and summer whispers prophetic sweet nothings
just before her final breath

it’s all the orgasm
that I’ll ever need.
Filed under:
poetry, pantin




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