A rosemary sprig a meal fixture, pink pigworts
And openbook celandine like a child’s impression of a flower
Midnight fruit lowhanging brought to my waiting fangs
My pangs bridled, if only for a while
Fire filled sefirot rotting on coffinwood branches, Spring reclaiming
Lanterns sprouting gaily, shoots upshooting like backward comets
Winter-blanched branches and boughs rechampioned by blossoms
Love-avowing flotsam like dyedpink cotton.
Alchemisland 
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