She sheaths her thoughts like bracts:
modifies the latch
to let enter some,
aloof from the rest.
She winds her flimsy midori gown taut
against her breasts, the remnants
spool down her hips
into a comely dress
She lets what she needs in
via ear-duct
then back out through her breath
Although they mimic flowers,
her body does it best.
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1 comment:
An organic sentiment: intellirespiration.
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