Take the hanging hand
Leave me shell shocked
here.
Time to give up the thought that these leaves
Were ever really bat wings
Keeping time with anyone else's lungs
But mine.
My skin
Like cracked china plates with
Careless blue pedals and chapped edges.
Every inch remembers fine tuned insect wings,
Fluttering my eyelids
Pacing my palms.
I roll my tongue
Feeling the tiny seed like a vessel
Float along my teeth,
Dried leaves and velvets ropes
Placed above my sleeping head,
Constellations on my chest.
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