Raven Feather

I come to, as usual upon my back
hips and chest splayed
bruised breasts pull thin my tender heart-skin

in morning delirium I thought I held a raven-feather
sleek and sculpted for cutting air
but like a child awarded a sword
this otherworld weapon is
powerless in my grasp

this is me;
upturned beetle in my memory foam trap
(legs flailing)
no iridescent feather

just the memory of something
rescinded by the
magical night

Posted by

Not really in the mood for defining myself.

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