March 23, 2024

 

You, with your feathered wings as brash as bark and your heart a soft big thing.
Me, body devoid of angles, my pointed soul sharp and hiding. 

Peeking through your fingers, your polished smile for once cracked and bent,
A wrinkle as intruder on my stoic face, was all you needed then to be content. 

Wild thing you were, running and leaping across continents, 
Small thing I was, cautious and scared of every doubt in my intents. 

If you detested my fragility as much you did the grey skies, 
I in turn resented your contumacy as much I did my sinking eyes.

Limbs entwined we laughed amongst shards of glass shattering around us,
Until our bodies broke apart under the weight of our own distrust. 

I waited for you like I wait for July,
And then I cried for you like I would for an innocent child.

When your eyes turned black as night I forced mine to hold no fear, 
For the angel and the demon, there is no other quite as near. 
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