With purple hyacinths
blooming from
the hollow cavern
in my sunken chest,
beating chlorophyll
through drained veins;
with chrysanthemums
spilling from
chapped lips,
broken bits
painting petals perinone;
with carnations buds
protruding from
emptied sockets,
stems and roots
deeply intertwined
with synapses;
I ponder:
"Lilies are more
traditional,
but would
tangerine tulips
bring you back?"
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