Learning To Fly

love 8

There is no greater joy
Than that moment, a fledgling bird’s feet
Become adrift of the ground.
And learning not to feel anything
On your feet, is when, you
Find your wingspan and slowly,
You gather wingspeed,
And together, you become,
A specimen of ornithology with a keel,
Learning that the azure sky,
Has endless possibilities,
Just like when you are an offering
Of flesh, reaching out to another body,
To become entwined as a pathology,
Of time bridging to timeless,
When your body and hers,
Are persuasive anatomies
Loaning each other,
To spark something electric,
That has both a plug point
And a switch.

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