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On tenterhooks

This restlessness won't leave me,
it buzzes about my chest
as though it were a field of daisies
waiting to be pollinated
by a swarm of fretful bees
who sting like honed pebbles
but never die

At night, I can hear the daffodils whimpering
from my windowsill,
they reach for me
with limp limbs,
I feed them honey
spit on their soil
and read a poem from my diary

but they're still ill at ease
so we count stars
wishing one might fall through
our fluttering hearts 

Copyright © | Year Posted 2008




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