ah, i wish my saplings good luck -

my little tree of letters
next to my piss-pot
when it rains,

so it is fifty percent myself,
and the rest is
weather-water -

when an insect licks the back
of The Queen’s head,
on a stamp.

Tell my true love,
“I love you”;
a reader,
who unfolds the leaves
with less than
half a thumb.

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