But I am a rare bird, and one of an acquired taste. I’ve got broken bits and baggage to claim, knots to untie, and disclosures to make…

But when you see me spread my wings you’ll find

the remiges glossy and strong, with fibers so finely woven. And the down lying underneath is tickling, soft,  familiar.

Ride on my back and I will show you great heights.                                                    Hold me in your hand and I will not fly.                                                                       Stroke my head and I will surrender.                                                                                Retreat to my wing and I will keep you warm.

What color are my wings to be? Imagine and you will never know their full beauty.

Take in the bird before you. I am waiting for your gentle hand.

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