Polite
Bathed in moist soil,
Ungrateful my leaves golden.
Rinsed in by Monsoon pearls;
June's birthstone. Impermeable currents
Char my vienlets.
Flesh hung amidst branches;
What hooks me up; jagged masts
Pierce each fibre.
Sore, these plum-bruised fruits
Covet soft thin lips.
Seeds to be sown, germinating
From your mouth.
To people that give new meanings, to the same words, previously unimportant.
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