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Rated: · Poetry · Other · #1033550
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Beauty


Because she called me in the middle of the night
And told me that it bloomed at last
I pedaled my bicycle to her door as hard as I could
She was holding a small cactus in her palms
Smiling and pointing at the tiny red flower
Bloomed on her cactus at last

When morning made birds chirp
I found her flower was already dead
And I was afraid of her finding it thus
While I was thinking I could buy a similar one with a similar flower
She opened her eyes
She looked into my eyes and smiled and I was astounded
She stepped to the window and held her cactus and stared
And said it was more beautiful than last night
She touched it
I stared at a bead of her blood on her pinky
And my eyelashes pet her cheek
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