swing [24/30]

the winding gold is false as water

the gods running on it’s back lost as men, the paper flowers in their tiny hands

dancing in a twisted crinkle

the wine is ready for tasting, the blood seal and the map opened into rose leaves, the green and webbed tinder or moss around the fire’s lashing branches

the orbit’s glow is you, the smooth circle of love in the bending dance arcs and the spin

moves us close in the silence of heart drums and the

sparkling murmur of eyelashes meeting.


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