You proudly flaunt your limbs.
some reveal your heads. and fragileness.
I imagine your insides rich in textures. Binding to you like underwear.
You will rise one day to be an army.
To replant the world.
After the apocalypse.
You are the silent soldiers.
The shadows of the bleeding nymphs.
Some of you are green bottomed lampshades
suspended precariously as child held over bath.
Gripping an equivalence of being gripped by your newly made mothers
tub washing you forcefully.
