Exhaustion

I wish, between the spinal synapses, I could insert a key, the teeth slotting into place like a bird, landing upon a telegraph wire.

.

And waiting, it would turn, it’s wings would spread, and exhaustion, slowly, would spring.

.

Outwards, amber exhaustion, melliferous, it malingers, before gushing from my pores, a Vesuvian embrace.

.

And my bones, the tension that wrought them, unravels like a tangerine skin, towards redamant relief.

.

Wings spread outward, the plane of days,

.

Just before the,


key, turns
.

back.

.

.

.

.

.