Sent and Sended
her face is
the twelfth
of a dozen
roses all in
a bouquet
but there's
something
different
about
her
flower for with
fingers and
thumbs i
open her
petals and
smell her
loving
scent
that
so
sends me to
breathe the
earth as her
slight patch
of moss
holds
barely
a few
drops
of
morning's
dew
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