Rough Morning
Let me be safely tucked between the pages of a book where paper is clean and white and words are clearly stamped in black, the edges firm and strong enough to hold the weight of my need to escape from the human threat outside of these covers; my thoughts perceive it as inherently dangerous, yet my imagination runs to the early morning light of a clear, full moon above dark green where pale mushrooms turn their cylindrical heads toward its beaming glow and all is sinewed with fog and the damp smell of unwaking.
Beautiful.
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