My heart,
Plastered onto my sleeve,
Falls to the floor with the rest of my shirt.
And I fall into armless blankets,
Wrapping sheets tight against my waist
Where your hands would be.
It's my skin
And the pumping of my blood
That warms me
Lulls me into security.
I won't claim to be a butterfly
When I emerge from this cocoon
Just a more self-assured worm.
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