i’m skeptical of sky where space holds you up

when holding my heart,
does your sigh make
a beat a feather—
skip when I deem
my way of winter,
better? i hear subtle
echo through winds
bitter, should you
return, my smile
will be warmth
upon those
cheeks, gracious
in dismissing foxes
with beard (orange,
gray, black & white)
tails. the ones inside
your head, slowing
your breath down
showing enamel
white. i always
take away how
quick they spread
their mouths—
like a dove
mid flight.
i see
grin,
strange &
unprepared,
slipping them
away, “no”
shake of my
head. coming
with howl, I
stand/sit/stare
out the window
afraid the fear
makes your love
seem fickle, than
divine. a small bump
on my third finger,
top of my left palm.
if i give it (fear),
will you empty
my soul phobia—
i am not enough
for you? i am too
much nonsensical,
less adult than I
should be now?—
you only call them,
Beloved, that someday
isn’t today, right? you
couldn’t possibly still
have open arms,
welcoming this
little bird,
believing she’s
the last one to belong?
i could fly from a 7th
floor window, but
untitled feeling
says frequent
flyers neve
settle among
gardens below.

what happens while listening to a perfect playlist. written between yesterday & tonight. being in the zone is the best, yes?

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2 thoughts on “i’m skeptical of sky where space holds you up

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