THE WINGS

I won't dare to utter a word about
 art or you 
both being an intricate puzzle,
 always a mystery worth trying but am lazy. 
So when you said that you will give me two wings if I give you my hands in return I thought nothing but of your magic .
A fair trade, 
A sullen memory,
A crooked pearl, 
A colorful dream catcher. 
You taught me how to fly 
But never bothered to say 
that there is no sky. 
I am left with two thermocol pieces
 you painted in brown to match my skin and
a glitter of violet spread in the sides.
What should I do? 
Why should I ?
Your silence a plastic doll
I kept next to my bed, 
It's eyes so blue and lips so red
 but so cold that 
it reminds of our first winter together. 
Your smile a wild peach
Fresh, soft, honey colored 
I keep hidden in my China plate basking in the morning sun.
We are now sixty five cities away 
And you are a mute idol to whom I dare to ask 
to give my hands back 
So that I can write 
all the thousand synonyms of you_
Art, beauty, love. 
Art, betrayal, loss.

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