Poetry

The Stasis of Soft-scaled Wings

Hanging around beneath the canopy,

your long, green dreadlocks

dangle in the air,

sucking the moisture away from the world.

As you drink, I see the life

return to your slender body,

the colour of your skin

ripens once more

and you rise up,

reaching for humid skies.

Your soft fingers remind me

of silver-white moths

floating on the breeze towards

the light splashing down

from the stars.

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