Rapture overwhelms, Blotting from memory the midwife's tale. At first you caress it gently, one petal only Quickly, like the bitten apple exposed to air Petals, one by one, turn brown, then fall to earth. My sweet Magnolia fragrance dies, doused by The chemistry of your moist hands. Clutching the rough barren stem, you long for a word. One word that will comfort me, to protect me even from your Creation-the scarred core of my inner face.
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