Buried in spent silk, resting, pausing, perched
the final unfurling
wealthy wings pulling, up, out,
and airborne
going for that spreading
faraway
ground of twitchy
anticipation,
foreign conversation, and socks-severing
scenery only I can
take all
in, breathe,
love and live,
someday
die in; figure out as I go the meantime
It has to be nearly soon.
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