Once it warms enough the scent reemerges
Growth
Original fecundity
Is that what they are allergic to, I wonder
Worried into natural aversion of springtime
That might trigger a primal urge
Let alone a Druidical memory of ritual sex
Celebrating rutting in fields and pastures
That’s enough to constrict certain blood vessels
For now
But the brown hue of loamy soil
Sticks to your back
Tonight
David Trudel © 2013
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