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In Flight ConvergenceTo Michael Burch's previous piece

Psycho Analysis

This is not what I need . . .
as though I were a seed
        to be planted,
with a stick and some string
        until I emerge.
        Your words
are not water.  I need something
        more nourishing,
        like cherishing,
something essential, like love
        so that when I climb
        out of the lime
and the mulch.  When I shove
        myself up
        from the muck . . .

. . . we can fuck.

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