Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Fourth Flower, A Purple Haze. Let's Imagine Me Dead.

I want you for a flower.
Not like the other mistakes.
But if you read this, please be aware
that I could fall in love for you.

What makes a lemon any more sour
then the weekends unabashed
by a lonesome corner eye?

Have my hands become
filled with butterflies?
An estuary pickled
madcap tailored suits to befit
the handsome devil and
swoon me o'er his lap.

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