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The tulips of bold spring colours
were in full bloom
now they linger in liminal.

I haven’t chucked them into the bin
at the faintest wrinkling of petals;

decay has its wondrous

the purple petals flap open
an unfurled upside down

exposing the pistil and
stigma—so immodestly phallic!

and the curled red petals are
womanly labial,
even pinwheel propellers;

the gradations of magenta are
swirls of silken skirts
on the catwalk;

and the white pointy petals are a
medusa face contorted
in fabulous ways;

finally, the yellow blushing one,
is a strange new flower
an abstract picasso

a flapping, twisting flame
augural and beautiful

when in the morning
it is the day’s glory.


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