the cracks are just shower steam and lightness,
sips of juices and the intake of crinkling air and the first cries of daylight’s drops
the opening is fluid, driving into the open mists, deeper into the scalds, the trickles and the bend of the toes into dove soap and plaster, heat into the veins, soaked in by leather palms and the curling hairs, the day runs about the ankles, flitting in the breaking light, into the ease down the stairwells and the stretching cords, the calmness in the shuffle of feet, a broil in the first inhale of the waiting moments, time is stalking–
poaching from the weariness and the dead feet of skyscrapers, eating the grass, drinking the sunshine, and feeding
on the slim bodies

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