You are a warm blanket and
a dollar with a big smile on it
that was hiding in the grass
you walk at my pace (mostly)
you are a wax record
for my first and best pressing
you are a weathervane
and I am the wind
you help me say
where I am going
and you are the soft curves
of the mountains that hold me
as I lift the river's tongue to you.
You are my family
and a layer of skin
I cut the crust
your boiling fruit is in.
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