Sevenling (I like gymnasts…)

I like gymnasts, how they bend like pencil lines
or leaves blown about nice and smooth. How green
everything is: herbs are growing on the wind,
.
it’s that rich. The light is geometric when it falls
on her face. She recoils as a fanged-thing.
Her hair, pallid. Her skin, bright as tulips.
.
All has exchanged from gym to garden.
.
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