A soft freeway of bicycles propels me through the fog. Following strings of lozenge lights towards future's mills and runways, our departure's earliest signals barely warm. A fern's puzzled twist as the passageway elopes. Kudzu. Jungle hums, for the planet's relief. Teams of tomorrow under bramble guns, silk tissues and gauges. Blasted from the womb of love, sorry letters. Once upon the thyme they did roll together, battened tears and whispered comfort. The shape of secret pregnancies, leaf- like in their shallow introductions.


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