##Wings##
Under your arm
Is there a way
To the depth of my throat?
Furrowing signs of alarm
Among the colorful rays
Of unthought.
Smell what is grown
On my back under neck
From the shoulder-blades.
The smoldering drawings
Beneath dirty rag.
Here is my hearts here is my spades.
If I expose
My back
I beg
Of wish of yours
Those
Who are stretched on the cross
Aren't dead.
The Gray Garland Street,
Where the frameworks of games
Fasten their own boys.
The iron twists
Around the chest, hips and face.
We walk through the blurs.
I loved you all night,
But you didn't see -
My eyes kissed the ear.
The stripes of light glide,
And get into your sleeve.
Your collar bone feels fear.
If I expose
My back
I beg
Of wish of yours
Those
Who are stretched on the cross
Aren't dead.
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