my unscarred knuckles bug me these days
& so slithers droplets off my cheeks, a little orange
like her
cremated butterflies slip their way in
my head, fluttering again
with mantles of mid-night blue-this once
tainted leaves sob with the breeze as she
redoes her bun-
just so,
i fall smitten to the halo around her
hands, satin
oh to be the quill interpolated by her
saffron lips
singing to you the fables of
delay, amidst hushed silence
you gain creases on your forehead
even so, busy again
caught off guard, pushed again
to the handle with a dull
silver finish, shelves with spirals that
do not cease
i try to clasp at the loosen
threads but it’s t-too-
too fast
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