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He is feather-rife— A wild bird I am forbidden from grasping..
🕑 Added 2023-04-14 14:21:16 +0000 UTC He is feather-rife— A wild bird I am forbidden from grasping. Like the pleading song of a mourning dove, I coo after him, Calling him and kissing his existence, Enveloping him in soft, unbroken adoration. I fuss over his wings that I long to preen, Telling him how to tend to his beautiful face, Whispering that it needs my kisses. My romantic inclinations tell me to stretch my heart open And make space for him to climb inside, But each time I look, I see a piece of him already nesting within me. I look into his eyes and a soothing rain floods my soul. To him, I am feather-rife— A wild bird he is forbidden to hold.
