The jasmine is blooming. That, too, is a sweetness.
You enter a space that threatens gender.
I have been harvesting small moments.
What do aphids say about sap?
The care with which memories were curated.
But I am complex. Look: I have a diagnosis.
You had a favorite color. You could name it.
These are not all the same me.
a tune was trying to find its way around chords that would not vibrate
Your voice wrapped the words in a care the words did not have.
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