Wild Flowers
Strange, when I'm distant,
Her fingers are wild flowers.
I ran towards her to smell
Wild honeysuckle.
When I was next to her,
Her fingers smelled soapy.
She was always washing her hands.
Constantly, she washed her hands
in a white basin.
When I go away, when I'm distant,
Her hands, again, are wild flowers.
Duane Locke
Posted over on Electric Acorn
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