Plucked

I love you but could these wings fly?
Freshly plucked, flesh dry and petrified
The sky is burnt marshmallow
And the southerly blows hard against the swallows

Fighting stance looks oddly
Like a mating dance

Less than whole
Wholy empty
Arms are limp
Shoulders plenty

Priceless pain
Strategic folds of brain
Origami avoidance
I crane my neck to dodge
The oncoming thesauraus

Trauma euphemisms
Build distance from hyperventalism
Avoiding romantic vandalism
Light a candle for love handles
Gripped too tight.

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