The fleshy curtains cannot block
the morning birds and their
excessive jubilation, yet they
remind me of your eyes -
my regular salvation.
The clock ticks vertigo
and a light bulb pops -
The birds swarm, shattering
slowly and messily
through my window
and curtains, pecking
the lies right out of my
abeyant blood.
Your eyes became the
texture or silence,
dilating my isolate reality
infinitely, and leaving me
with only orphaned feathers
and very real rips for light
to someday seep.
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