My dearest love,
your body is a garden and
photosynthetic.
A pasture for the overgrown
or
underdeveloped
asexual tendencies.
Your buds inseminated by
a spilled seed collective;
internal as thought and
unclear to me
as most things are.
So as I cut you
in halves
and you drown decoratively,
know
I have no dying wish
other than to witness
your death
as a public trophy.
My dearest love.
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