Magpie eyes steal glances like kisses -
keeps mine trying to shine brighter in the hopes that you want to line your nest with me and my soft scar tissue. It's a game to keep you thinking that I am gilded and golden and not garbage, trying to fool your bird heart into treasuring one man's trash. You're too clever for those games. I know. Sapphire ruffling and emerald blinding, ever hesitant of what these cat claws are able. I’ll admit that though I've played with fire I still tremble when you get close. Prairie storms have nothing on flurries of feathers Or the chinook arch of your back.
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November 2019
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