spinning the copper coiled wing

bathroom mirror reflected a breath
that was hard

mist stayed on it like a circus
that never leaves

cracked floor tile slippery similar
to a memory

he tucked away his scars in the
medicine band-aid box

wiped away the tears like blood on
a shaving cut

tasted the morning air, much like a
bowl of cereal

put on the vinyl, same song played
out of habit

danced with a limp, sunlight shadow
didn’t care, applauded

disqualified himself though, searched for
the copper coiled wing

needed for the mid-air suspension of
thought, for the faith

healing was the closest thing to touch,
forgiveness, the wind against
his face

spinning as he fell, warm air to the
wing saturated

landing, still had the limp, was the cure,
put back on the vinyl

they danced one last dance,
then kissed her hand
goodbye…

Copyright © 03/26/2013 Ðark Ṝoasted Ƣoetry®

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