Rondel instead of rondeau
she covets openness of form
freedom of being:
gray, grieving tear space
instead of fenced emotions
precariously unclaimed
instead of “Will you be mine?”
She covets a dancing solitude
heart to the wind
instead of family dinners
same time same place of security
instead of firm footing
a wobbly walk on the edge
leaping lapping flames
along spinal curls she craves
every night
every night
every night
she craves and covets
a wild abandon
wild flowers in spacious fields
a sunlit gold in a heartbeat
she could possess
but if she does
would the shimmering desire
the dandelion puff in her palm
lose the glory
as she wraps her fingers round?
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