I Don’t Give a Shit About Flowers

The gilded lotus petal broke apart
in my hand, and the pieces began to
float gently down into my earthenware
pot of chrysanthemum tea, and while I
watched the desiccated beauty of this
rare floral moment, the wind raped the birch
trees to my left. I cried aloud for joy
while the zephyrean fornication
reached a fever pitch around me, and all
the elephants in the lavender made
willow tree tears as December yellowed
fumbling Sasquatch motion babies, but
I heard wild essence love squirrel mandrake god
cake juice please tell me you’ve stopped reading this.

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