We in these guts
grow wispy, smooth.
Present soothing fragrance
whispers to no ear
that all is here,
all is forgivable,
all is traceable to the root.
The gracious lace we shoot
beautifies blue space.
How it was meant to be
shimmers and shakes.
So we feast on snowflakes,
we revel in unraveling.
Love pushing through the seams.

-r. miller

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