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they come with their iridescent heads
sparkling like jewels
drawing my eyes to the glass

tiny wings pounding a feverish beat
that vibrates up my sternum
and blooms in my cheeks

with a Cinderella smile I hold out a finger
wouldn’t that be fanciful
but more than a perch they seek

wanting what waits in my kitchen
and I could you know, as easy as Karo did
concoct an addictive elixir

but what of the little beasts
when the seasons turn
and they do not

when the flowers are dead
and I remain
their only source of sweetness

are they then my charge
when I, milked dry,
have no more sugar

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