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Hayfever, It's Genetic

A Poem by Carolina Fernandez Bold

You won’t speak, your eyes leak stinging petals

and my eyes are yours: the colour of nettles.   

In your fingers I place foreign flowers

as you forgive-me-not, I decide 

to keep the words inside

the lump in my throat, but still I choke

on that apple that falls from the Garden of Eden;

the wretched curse of each Spring season.

Back to BoundBy: March'23 (Edition #1)

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