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Not Yet Swans



We were fooled last week
when so many things outside
were tipped in green

And though darkness is
your favorite color,
you disrobed from it
and kicked it under the bed
As you accepted Spring
to your bosom

You shook your hair back
and offered your throat
to the kiss of something
renewing
all of your tips to pink

At first, I felt like a bird
fidgeting upon your window ledge
(edge of your bed)
I suffered the settling
for at least bread crumbs
Two pieces, one
in each of your hands

I doubt my soft begging
sounded like a song
I doubt my grey plumage
ever impressed anyone
Yet your hands opened anyway
as you begged in return
for me to be impatient
And so I was

Our eyes were as bedridden
as our bodies
While we touched everywhere
that Spring had touched
just that morning
Partaking of our
renewables
time and time again

We must have over-indulged
Because during,
Winter pushed back cruelly
Yet our windows projected
invisibility, to what was outside

-As Mother Nature scorned us
for our promiscuity
All she had at first, though
was her wind quarreling
against the window
Distracted, we thought
the pounding was only us

The Day suffered for us
as the swans down at the lake
tucked their chins
and bristled their feathers
in the wind
I'm sure they called out
as they flew away
(Because nature does send
its heralders.
But we weren't listening)

The lake shivered
across its own surface
It re-gathered its cracks
and mended them into
an opaque shield
that repelled the promises
of better days to come

A canoe was caught
during its unuse
anchored by the ice
With a rope of now glass
freezing the compulsion
to untether from the shore
As I, tethered to you
whispered for more

Perhaps the canoe will be
a planter for more snow
Forced patience
While Winter recaptures
all dominion.


I knew you had to,
when you pulled darkness
back out from under the bed
-Something less cold
than the returning air
As I looked for my shadow
so that I too could hide
within something dim

But my shadow had left
with the swans
They dragged it under them
as it thrashed atop the trees
Like an eraser
for anything green

Like an empty hole
where reflections
should have been.


*
Styxian
Written by Styxian
Published
Author's Note
Broke thumb, shitty night, day off work, so finished this one.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 4 reading list entries 3
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ImperfectedStone Honoria Bluevelvete
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