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Wheat MAG
Wading through the wheat field
Grains as golden as the setting sun
Watching clouds spun from indigo
spider's silk
Dance across the azure dome.
She glances at you over her bare shoulder with a set of wide, candy eyes
And tosses her half-eaten apple into
the field.
You smell the rain.
And you smell her.
She smiles.
Her bare feet pad across the earthen ground.
You have never felt such supple skin.
You hope it never changes.
You hope she never grows calluses
Like the ones you have on your hands,
Souvenirs from many years of wielding
a hammer
And leather reins.
You've never really had a way with words
But you can taste their sweetness on your red tongue.
Before you can say them,
She laughs
But no sound comes out.
You blink and on the back of your eyelids
You see her wide candy eyes.
She is gone.
The flaxen orb has been devoured by the inky vastness of the infinite winter night.
You look
And in the shimmering constellations above
You see her golden wings
Beating.
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