Art
I can see the flower
that's forming on paper.
Sense my wife behind me
as she reads.
I can feel
the surface of the paper
as my hand
shifts about its sleeve.
I can smell the fragrance
of clean and white
wafting behind me;
Heavens innocence
Hells delight
I can watch flower
leave its confines,
take on the color
of berry wine;
steal the scent of my woman
to only wither in its time
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