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COLDVALENTINE The opposite of human is maple. The yin to our yang is phlox. In the shocked ground of February, small, clitoral bulbs stir but not because they’re plotting out their purple. Their guile is gene-deep, an ache for the gold-smeared bee in everything they are. No one in the vegetable kingdom needs this doily and black glitter. Nobody out there tries to rhyme with what they want. That’s why I’d like to turn and live with the rhododendron— they care not, neither do they incite their petals to anything but pink.  ...

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