(NB: I wrote this through a process of elimination. I poured a box of Magnetic Poetry on the table and placed the words that didn't inspire me back in the container. I arranged them like building blocks, filled in some spaces the available words couldn't cover and found that I had created something that sticks, much like those magnetized words...)
I recall
a moment
in spring
when a storm
of tiny pink
rose petals
fell from above
like want
in an easy
symphony, then
crushed beneath
languid eternity
and I could smell
their thousand
delicate whispers
enthralled by their
elaborate language
etched like sea spray
on your bare arm
like me, they worship
your cool, essential skin
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