I wait for the fireflies I know won’t be here for another
month, and feel their need, to glow in the dusk in the hope of getting lucky,
as erect as I can get when I think of what it might be like to return to her
garden again and romp through her weeds, stirring myself up as a glow and know
if she notices me I might get lucky again, this ever present need, this ache in
the weds, a glow in the dark I hope will be enough to draw her to me, to have
her let me do again what I have done fore for, that which makes me glow inside,
and out, not just on these warm spring days but with the though it might be
enough to keep me warm through the dead of winter when I have nothing else to
hope for
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