being a poet
from the south
i feel obligated to
write about
honeysuckle
and its aromatic
profundity,
and i would, too,
if it didn’t attract
the damned spiders
that web my car
each night,
trapping me
in a heebie-jeebie dance
every morning
as the sun
strains against the trees,
wanting desperately
to kiss the moon
between her delicate
white thighs.
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