Handsized
Fist perfect
I could squeeze
You into swansong
Feel through feather
Your fine bones
Snap
Snuff the very
Chitter still perched
There on your toy
Of a beak
You you tiny
Tiptoe on that chair
You curious
You nervous
But unafraid
That glittering pin
Of an eye
That button of sight
Sparkling with the knowledge
That though I own the fist
You have the wings.
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