weathervanes and paper planes

if you could fold me in half,

you’d see the way my skin

wrinkles under your fingers.

each indent reveals every

way your touch manipulates

my body. it is small. impressionable.

fold me again and watch how

easily i collapse. crease the corners

and listen to the way i sing,

cradled in your palms. hold me.

don’t let go. we could talk about

how you would follow

wherever the wind takes me,

but what if the direction i

soar is not where you want to go?


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