The earth is 
running out of flowers, 
there is no 
alternative for spring, 
the sky is fit to
raise the vultures, 
with its receding hairline 
looking like a moon.
I slice my mulberry heart, 
because am a woman 
reared like a knife.
I decide to gift you 
the big slice,
because am a woman 
reared like a lamb.
You walk without a second glance,
your ego parading in its might.
I follow, 
longing for something,
anything,  
even a predator's smile.
I follow, 
like a camel with a lump 
enough to store all your grief.
You run, 
afraid of inheriting 
my blue hugs,
like a blind child 
afraid of touching 
a poem in braille.
I look at you,
a salivating child looking 
at glass doors of cakes 
I run.
I fall.
My knees bleed-
like lovely roses.

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