The Evening Primrose
Today it was
The scent of my own skin
With the circulation
Ever warmer
When in my bed
I did lay
My blood is going somewhere
My blood is going nowhere
My legs are tributaries
Off the old canal
My thoughts are the thoughts
Of some long-held
Misunderstandings, my temptations
Lead me to where I am
Last night it was
The sleep, or rather the lack of it
Last night it was
The dreams
With poetry’s words
Forever recurring
As in my bed
I did lay
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