Feathers That Knew Yesterday

Ink has painted
a masquerade or ornamental
or freckles
dimples obscure
thy body waxes and wanes
with every sculpture

do you bleed in black?
Or white blood meshed into spine?
Do you crave white?
No, black is but a standard connoisseur?

These variations,
and paradoxes
are but upon you
as you lay naked
or clothed
in delicious
multiple skins

I can touch
I can read
I  pine for more

to make love with wisdom

ah yes those feathers

reach some heaven aside mortal flames…

Speak yer mind

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