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The Gardener
I watched the gardener trim you, so supple and pure,
like pieces of peppermint slowly dissolving
in my mouth that watered for you, the saliva gathered
lascivious puddle around my tongue, longing to taste you.
He pruned you as you grew, so gently and carefully;
was he your father?
You sprouted so quickly from that lily white stem,
so fragile, so innocent; so delicate and breakable.
I ache to break you.
Your flower barely bloomed, two buds
so firm and precious and soft; your pistil hidden from view,
waiting for my prodding, swelling stamen ripe and heavy with pollen.
I would take your flower so quickly if given the chance;
you could not resist me…you would not, would you?
I saw him stroke you gently, smiling lovingly toward you,
whispering in your ear.
I had things I would whisper to you as well.
His heart was full of pride;
I was wishing I was him.
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