I yearn for astonishment
A soft, downy blanket like a snow angel
Sculpting to my curves
A pine cone to my rib
The scent, intoxicatingly awakens me
My velvety soul
The phantom lunging toward the iron bars
That cascades like a spill
Of scalding, treacherous drink
Unsound, the cage catapults
To the sordid, flaked underbelly
Of my being, peeling like antiquated paint
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