Soil beneath my fingernails
represents the flesh of the planet,
mimicking the appearance of a hungry child
devouring the flesh of a fresh pomegranate.
Oil underneath my splintered scales
disorients my ability to palm the granite -
as I trip over inanimate amulets
protruding with scandalous abandonment.
About the Creator
Kale Sinclair
Author | Poet | Husband | Dog Dad | Nerd | Zen Practitioner
Find my published poetry, and short story books here!
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