There’s a cobalt pulse shivering beneath my skin.

A Y of rivers and rivulets.


A reservoir of worlds behind my eyes

and the paths on my palms await pursuit.

The lilac shells of my cut short nails cling

to my fingertips like limpets on the shore

and a row of pearls reveal either the sincerity

or the sham in each smile.


It turns out that I, too, just like the rest,

am alive.


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