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Ancient Avarice

Trees sway in my mind
while I hack and eat
away her skin
needles litter the floor,

green green
ferns speckle
white light wildly

"I am the end," breath
pouring over warm peach skin
cradled within the nape of her
neck

Sappho screams into darkness
flesh aflame, "A refining fire
has made me blind." The Rose of
Sharon, a pile of ashes

"A kind of beginning," grasp
the running river with its weeping
willows, "roll with the body taken
by the current."

Yokes of hunger and need
plow spring time fields plump
with sin

Lilly of the Valley, we kiss
and pray upon your luscious
leaves.

Sappho was a prophet of this
avarice.

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