Some are inordinately enamoured with flowers,
You have too, those pari passu with words.
Others conterminously attracted to swords.
Yet more others with honey,
They never feel satiated or cloyed.
These are mirrored by doppelgangers
In the opposite direction their cynosures operate.
Between these you have multitudes
With an attraction to myriad combinations of senses.
If you are curious to know
Where mine belongs,
Onto me, five times come along,
When my senses are pure and not drowned,
In the miasma of man made clones.
Copyright Haileselassie Girmay