Instead of trimming leaves, Chronicle the way your lips Curl into a smile, The way the corners of your eyes Crease and lift Before the beautiful sound even begins. I can capture the smell That lives at the spot Where your collar bone Meets your neck, Instead of picking bouquets From carefully cultivated Flowerbeds, Mix ink with the sweet scent Of serenity.
And I can promise With certainty That this harvest
Will never rot.
HVWP COMMONPLACE 16
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