For the briefest second
The hummingbird drank from the nectar in my heart
The roses in my blood fed her with my nurture
The puncture wounds remain
I think she tasted
Of my strength
I was no Peter Pan
Like Odysseus I was not vulnerable to Circes
As her feeding tube extracted itself
I felt the burning pain in my heart
As long as I had my dream
Of Penelope the cherry blossoms
were the right poultice
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