Trees (burn cleaner than plastics)

I fiddled with it in my mind
Picked it up and twirled it:
A floret of broccoli,
A branching twig,
Spindly, popping with
Buds of thick, waxy leaves
Nestled at nodes,
Pursed lips to the sun.
Licentious, some
Open wider
Open up
To a warmth that
Excites them,
Breathing heavy,
Out the good.
I breathe it in,
Close my eyes.
Snap my mind's fingers.
It turns to smoke.

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