The Sixth

This kiss, my lips as gardener,
feeding heat along a verdant trough,
a flickering tool moving
in hidden spaces, the private gate discovered.
The flowering, once hidden garden, opening.

Blooms rising, bursting,
from rich, fertile earth,
unfurling, rising, seeking heat –
a full circle,
a frenzied birth.

-Martin Burns

About Martin

I'm just... filling time.
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