Somewhere
a spine rears up
to strain someone toward new beginnings.
White to red shifts
as seeds are removed.
To be pitted is a thrill,
unless you're thrown away once tasted.
We all know that flowers sleep
by doubling up over themselves,
secreting every soft
pink
private
part
until the night no longer touches them.
This is the slow descent of debris.
This is the incidental injury.
To suffer somehow is always a side effect.
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