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I fell inexplicably in love with a poppy

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I fell inexplicably in love with a poppy.

Her petite features, light blush, and the white bones of love lie quietly in the zephyrlike, yellow stamens.

She bound my mind and body with her chains of loveless benignity, and I should have been struggling, crying out loudly, begging the gods for the freedom I should have held instead.

But my heart betrayed me, and it casted my painful sorrows into her gentle eyes. From the bottom of that forged softness, the dim Sun— like a deceased sunset, like an abyss, burned it away. 

I inexplicably kissed a millet. Her petals were fragrant and sweet, and the sunlight that shone atop, across the morning dew, was golden honey.

I kissed her gently, slowly— from her forehead, her sweet eyes, to her warm lips, and I stopped, because it suddenly came to me that her lips were the forbidden fruit of Eden, and Jehovah's admonition surged in my mind, stirring up waves that thrashed against my resistance and defiance. Her soft smile was a bewitching curse, a venomous snake:

It slowly climbed up my arm, and attached to my ear— like a saccharine daisy, she commanded.

"Ingest it."

So I kissed her, nibbling at the joy of love.

So I kissed her, nibbling at the joy of love

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