How thenam I to mention theprocess of molting withoutelaborating my own desecrationwithout describing the evaporationof my divine inner plumageinside this stillwaterstorm of sunshinethe truth of light banishesmy bright gleaming feathersbeneath the blaze of her warm summer raysmy decimated colors...

Funny how shewadedinto every singled daytill the pinking sun did setCarrying in her ruckthings she gave a fuckaboutor was too scared to leaveA dozen eggs' shellsto spread before her feetthat one special dancestill left undancedA folded list of faded...