Flowerflesh

In my memory, she has
earlobes like soft snapdragons and
eyes like freshly open crocus,
with all the scents of spring and
begonias twirled in her hair.
Something flicks its tongue in the air
and winds through stems and soil,

If I try to touch the petals
they bruise, fall away, and
reveal frightening things
beneath the flowerbed.

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