Inked

I want to remember
golden bridges untouched by war,
& wear nothing gold can stay
as near to my heart as it can lay;

I want my foot to know that
I am walking my words,
& my hands to feel they
are typing something true;

mostly, I want to feel
the clawed in proof
–vibrant against my
speckled peach–

so that I can never forget
what it feels like in this
moment, this breath, to be me:
eager, curious, adventurous

me. But I have changed since
last year, & the year before,
& some things that used to feel
permanent just aren’t anymore.

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