Saw a bat embroidered
on a flat line,
her lace as fragile
as the feminine in me,
wonder if she wishes her call
was a truer battle cry,
her wings could widen to dragonscale,
her caves as deep and rich
as American cities,
if she'd want to exist
in American cities,
wonder if she knows
the river by heart,
beats within her chest
as a metronome,
wonder if she wishes
she was something else,
adores the gathered cattle
resting in predawn, wanting
to see the day through their eyes,
or a few days,
or a month,
until she's no longer
a pitchless howl
sailing water lines,
on a pitch-dark canvas sky
lusting for an insect bloom
or perhaps a black dahlia.
Written by ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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