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Unleashed

I can smell the closed blooms, the blue pelt of clutched colors. Standing at my garden door, I sip moonlight. My skin watches; I am an ember in a wine vat. In my belly a coagulant of shadows washes away stale years. What is this feral shine? I lift my face through opening shoulder blades. I'm a primal wolf aware of its dreaming body, nothing can name me.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2023




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