Folded.

Sugar slicked via toxic lips

One hot breath, enough to transform into putty

To you, nothing but an exercise, a flex, performed with aplomb

How easy in your palm, to turn flesh and blood to origami

Sharpened edges, clean and pressed, in the shape that you ordained

A perfect sculpture, but nothing more, surely this can't be fair

Fragile and manicured, under constant threat from way on high,

Painstakingly formed into your flawless bird and told to never fly.

.

For Poppy's Prompt #8, using all 5 words, (Sugar, Origami, Palm, Fair and Fly.)

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