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The Desire of Mensareum Beardtounge


Being meek and mild
she cowers, hour after hour,
day after day, year upon year
by the stone tower. Paralysis
grips her body, keeps words
sequestered, stuck in
her cavernous throat.

She seeks inner wisdom
evaluates fate, studies the
slate of options— open wide
voice an opinion—or shrivel and die.

Her heart throbs in the garden
when the flower—
Mensareum beardtongue quivers.
Fire awakens an inner sensation.
Clear petals flare open, breathe

stir a warm furnace, an eruption.