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Desert Garden Dimes

Dry desert veins spread across our arms. Not freckles, not scars, not wrinkles.
We speak hope into the arid reservoirs of our elbows. Creases. Sinking, bringing us closer.
Wait for slowly growing daisies with round wingspans like dimes to spread their iron petals from the crags; lines upon lines upon lines.
Each white, delicate and silver-soft blanket reads honestly and perfectly, valuable and indispensable. As if this money itself was original edition mint.
Yesterday was the time. We brush up against it with our toes and bring it into our chests.
Believe in the brightest moon, its full-flower love.
Water is taken for payment to thrive, this desert is exhausted without you.
am without you.
Taste the greenery of last gardening season,
for every leaf has turned to emerald dust.
Memorize the calendars, their waves of weeks separated by shiny Sundays. Divide today by tomorrow and there you will find me, my blood ever-thicker and weaker for you than before.

13 Apr 18

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