The pomegranates split open
Anticipating the coming rain
your soft eyes smooth razors into river stones
the words overexerted, as juveniles of masterful predators
molting zealous carapaces, carried for far too long
still fragile, cautiously inflating their wings
the morning’s lustful bite
taking away the fangs we were born with
treasured, if only for an instant
an iron core eroding in fragments of confetti
scattered in the wind over jagged terrain
where we will soar in time
as the molten begins to shed
condensing into an alloy of sorts
that knows of no limitations
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