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(pour mon) golden cicada


My golden cicada,

you are the rare kind -- the nocturnal.

I am the standoffish cowslip creeper.

On a thick muddy night, you stumbled upon my paddle.

you whimpered of our differences;

an egg or a seed,

which one carries more life?

But you see,

we only got to run into each other

for it's summer;

for you are nocturnal;

for I smell of pleasure.

Molt, molt away on my spine.

break, break away from that corset.

no more a nymph,

my golden cicada.

Tomorrow morning,

if I were snapped by an early lady,

only to be braided into a short-lived wreath,

for her hustle,

for the market ----

I hope you find a place to rest,

before it gets cold and wet.

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