tilling the soil

Juarez, I’ll call it
swampy and wanting
that water bog
as it sticks in spindles
two feet in the air
it mirrors my instability
growing wildly in all directions.
ten yellow tulips
with spring still fresh in their buds
placed in sugar water
at the end of my bed
so when I wake alone
their cheer can fill me
as I prepare another day
lost in confusion
and waiting, only waiting…
to season the sickly air
I alight every scent
a mixture of pleasures
stifle the slipping hope
wisping around the twelve-foot ceilings
Vietnamese cinnamon
ginger, curry, patchouli
lavender, eucalyptus
and honeysuckle for my sign
the one which makes habit
of enduring love in solitude
a boon as it is a curse
I love me, I love me
I love you ‘cause you’re not me
but just for a short while
as dawn brings the light
I fought not to see
it’s me, it’s me
all the love
I gave for free
to you and others similar
I should have reserved
exclusively for me

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