when love deals you a wild card

wings falter against vivid wind
the jester on the verge of becoming
faces shifting and morphing
feathers and hellfire
I do not know these shapes and colours
all I want is
the moist sensation of crumbled earth
in between my toes
like gentle fingers clasped in prayer
a reality through a reverse-prism
where light shines through
a single point of focus
where dust settles
and collects quietly
on the floor

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