Monday, 1 February 2016

shedding skin. gently

in the time it takes to untangle yourself from the snakes you plaited down his back the birds will have scratched their cyphers on the dirty sky above naked fields exposing their pregnant brown bellies and your dreams (which turned out to be borrowed anyway) will have been nothing more than hazy provocations and you'll be soaked to the bone, the flame burning bright in one hand, a half drunk glass of milk in the other, burying apple seeds in the cracks as the day loosens it's grip with trembling hands and remembers the hills and the way they wore white so softly on their shoulders..

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