sleeping arm, fluid— the arm like tenderness
drawn out of soul cupping dovechild -sleeping-
-evoking this traveling tendernest.
Awe found, nestled wove-in length of armwing’s
fibrous, clean, soft, featherskin. Un-writ. In.
A humming birdsong inside… locked beauty
-You- an un-writ key. Tiny dove
am not I? Good enough to capture tenderly
The essence of what it is to Love— for
that lies in the experience of heaving
chest as gravity pulls his beating heart
in to mine— head nestled between the hollow
in my neck and the curve of my breasts and
we dream of taking to sky… and then we do.
