Paper Mache Talk
She has dandelion hair
and when the wind blows
I already have my wish
All the clouds were crying
as stars fell from her dress
her roots grew bird houses for hollow skeletons,
shells to hold shells to hold promises made.
Her skin was polaroid
tanned stained sepia toned
broken boned and dancing.
Empty quiver hunting trips
tangled in her own antlers
spider webs connecting dots
of her scattered constellations.
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