Itziar Verría’s Birds

she was

Morning’s songbird—
clutched to the branch of 
your left ventricle,

whispering lullabies

to your nightscape

trickling threads, of soft scarlet 
nested in shadows

of lemon and peach, 
from her throat

flickers of joy

fell from her fluttering 
wings 
as dewdrops

upon your drought 

thirsty 
tongue

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