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In the freshness of herbs I find myself
tucking in a lonely, barren body,
scrutinising withered roots with fervour,
absorbing the evil of the lymphs in my sanctuary.
Drinking fennel tea to purify the soul,
wrapping dermis in compresses of yerba buena,
litanies and resurrection of love dancing without calm,
poetic metrics encouraging chain arrhythmias.
In bunches of lavender I sigh ether of life,
save me in this dance of shared healing.