Rusty Colors


Beauty calling for the sake of hearing its own whisper.
The twang; a tight rope made of metal in the middle of nowhere.
Balancing on the edge of safety,
I do not beg to know why I choose you
but your wing sound makes my internal drum pound like hooves.
I flush rusty colors to speak this audibly and when you read my lips between their lines I find peace on sharp spines.

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