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words are my delight


Tuberose. Old office.

I play with them. I pour them. I prepare them. I potion them.


They know my hands. They know my mind. They know my soul by heart.


It takes so much patience.


A commitment.


A willingness to be quiet.


A desire to see.


They live with me,


though we are independent.


Lovers, for sure.


We may have already married.


But what does that matter anyway?


The most important thing


is that I show up


every day.


That I have proven my salt


through so many hot summers


and winters without proper light.


That I came to my desk to just sit.


That I put my shoes on


to run.


Whatever I knew we needed


to stay in relationship with each other


I did. 


And I do. 


Because words are my delight.

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