Hunters lined up to take their shot at midnight
and not a second before.

White bulbous dresses unfurling;
untouched beauty, curved
against your touch.

Take in her scent,
pollen staining your face.
Pluck her from the ground,
she’s only fresh for midnight,
then you’ll capture another.

Leaving yellowed centre,
weeping, wilting lilies;
A consummated cemetery.

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