Poem -

Tender

Splinter at the soft marrow;
She,
She ache
Nails that grow towards the sky
she races to a rhythm.

Oh, her blood is on you
it fills old desert rivers
From mouse to Pharaoh!
I want to bite into her golden light

hair is breaking, limbs are sobbing
You are only surprised by Your lack of strength...
shedding her secrets
She is.Ā 

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