Prison cloaked, we become
beloved Venus, wild in our
own starry skirts. Cash in
these pieces of stray light,
these forgotten goods so far
away, this bartered bright
-ness. Leave your rose lens
behind in shy pursuit of
some far less shining truth.

Written for the Sunday Whirl Wordle.

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1 Response to Whirled

  1. DELL CLOVER says:

    Excellently done.

Use your words.

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