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Replying to a comment on:
Windflower (Free verse) by matt door Can a lilac bloom
be like the primrose passion
of wholeness lost?
Like the salty-sweet
electric swell
of reckless was?
Like our entwinement
of new moist
suntanned bliss of then?
Can it smell
even half as sweet
as her heavy breath come dawn?
Like the young,
whispered promise
of brand-new forever?
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