The truest poems wake the inhale in her center and coax her eyes wider and tilt her head back until her neck creaks, every muscle summoned, as her sigh becomes a note long held and known by angels. You are that poem, dear Twilight, dear Thunder. You are that poem, dear Illness, dear Friend. You are that poem, dear Nectar, dear Starlight. You are that poem, dear Bramble, dear Bloom. You are that poem, dear Question, dear River.
