Birdhouse in your soul
I build the birdhouse in my soul out of the twigs and spare bits of fuzz I find in the corners of my ribcage.
I build it out of the lines of my lover's hands
I stick it together with the syrup-y sweetness of the warm sun streaming in my morning window, kissing me awake
I build until my hands ache with the fastidious care
I fit each twig into the pattern like I'm coming home
Feel moth wings flutter
Feel like an earthquake on the wind.
Shake by birdhouse.
Each moth wing heart beat threatens to tear my bird house to shreds.
I build my birdhouse in the deep part of my soul
Protected from storms by forests of love
Protected from rain by thick, thatched roof
I build my birdhouse in the deep part of the evening
I gather golden sun rays and store them in my birdhouse to keep me warm through the night.
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