Zywa
Flailing like butterflies
Together in the garden in the evening
done what was to be done
and said what was to be said
we wish nothing more
being connected
with the strange
the leaves, the flowers
and the blackbird not tired yet
flailing around like butterflies
we drink the nectar
and no longer have words
for who we are
I can hardly retell it
but something must have changed
we put on skin again
and felt blood flow
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