iron lips

wind pricks on skin

like teeth skidding across highways

and i grit my teeth and murmured


gnashed teeth and curled fingers

left wrinkled marks

and i held my heart in golden afternoons

and wondered when your breath

punctured the ridges of my strength

i kept asking god why i was not

made of inlaid stone

why i could not climb along the brow

of steep hills

i asked him why he tied

gnarled roots around my feet

why he coursed sputtered sighs

within my veins

in the end

i was made of ruffled sheets

and crimson gasps

i saw winter’s knuckles

whiten against heavy skies

coiled whispers lodged themselves

along the faults in the pavement

and wondered


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