My head tilts like wobbly shelves, yours ~
just floats ~
My bed is tossed on crumpled sheets, yours ~
is barely creased ~
I glare at my chin to scrape it blood dry, while your ~
feathers are placed, ~
feathers cross feathers ~
preened for preening’s sake ~
Avoiding ripples where ripples can rise… ~
But still…all is still now ~
At the mirror’s side. ~
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