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of naked vines
her limbs
in tight suffocation.
she breathes in
sticky air
and never lets it go.
There in her flora prison,
she gives up.
Freedom is untouchable.
Satisfaction is so far
from her grasp
that she holds onto the bars
of this cell
in defiance of air,
of breath.
The straightjacket binds
and she’s comforted.
It squeezes
and she can breathe again.
There is no escape,
no release,
no acquittal
for her crimes
of loving the wrong one.
He is there
in the meadow,
on the waves,
beneath her skin,
but her fingers
never reach his,
her eyes
never see his.
So prison
is where she lives
awaiting his rescue.


5 thoughts on “Vines

    • Thank you so much! What a wonderful comment. And I think we all have the ability to love deeply. I guess my problem is I don’t have the ability to let go. Thanks for reading! 🙂


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