Apple seeds poisoned with
the elements of myself I can not swallow
fill bowls around my house.
They don’t allow
mixed fruit into this place,
no hollow echos from stoneless peaches
or the too sweet nectar of just one strawberry.
Tell me you love her again.
Let the way the notes slide off your pointy tongue
generate a new pact
between you and all the flowers
you plan to present to her.
Their stems still wet
from the earth,
still wet from the latest rain.
The bugs still clinging to the pistons.
It’s been a long time since my dreams
were interpreted by a professional.
While waiting, I hold my hands over the flame,
watch the fruit flies
rest on the screen at a safe distance
before swarming the unwashed seeds.
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