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Click hereWings fascinate me.
Fluttering wings;
the powder puff touch on whipped cream air,
gentle as a cloud, palm-whimpering,
and sniffing shyly at an ice cream daughter.
Beating wings;
black and furry, an enormous whirl-pooling bellowing furious
cloudburst of wings,
chastising, condemning, casting a dark shadow,
zooming in a sudden rush
to splatter against the walls of heaven.
Soaring wings;
swooping and swimming in a blue-green blended sky,
swirling feathers in a whirlpool of colors,
an artist and a painter,
a ballerina of blue, a solitary player
on a miscellaneous stage.
Lazy wings;
a caw-call in the heat of the early evening,
a slapping of arms in nonchalance
against a sleek body,
punctuating the heat with a lone call,
and the parched breath meeting of wing and side.
Hollow love song.
Very nice, four ways of looking at wings. I'm not certain of the purpose of the last line, if it were gone I don't think the poem would suffer. Thanks for sharing your poetry.