Waylaid memory
of a longing,
unfelt
A serpent moulting
out of hibernation,
unspent
A bold sprout nudging
through tree-trunk,
long felled
A lone flower peeping
between cracks of a house,
dilapidated
An unsure rainbow
on a summer noon,
out of place
A yawn urging me
to take a break,
from myself
She creeps upon me,
like an apology,
unmeant
preying on my conscious,
invading my conscience,
at once
A vine unlike any,
stars in her eyes,
making way to the sky
A poem
that writes
herself
through me,
without me,
despite me.
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