Me-an-ing Mac-hi-nas

put your hand to your chest and let your fingers dance

Once upon a time [apparently that’s how you start stories] there was a boy in blue. A blue wooly sweater. [Wooly implies wool-like, much unlike 100% wool from fancy stores]. The sweater stretched across his upper body like the sky [this comparison is called a simile]. His chest hair was trapped beneath the sky like grass that has yet to feast on the sun.
 
She imagined running her hands upon his wooly sky.
Her fingers dipping and twisting until
she slipped underneath
and reached the grass.
She would pull the sky up up and away to see
his seedlings.
Her eyes sunbeams,
fingers would graze
and she would feel the light dew the sky had trapped.
And she’d press her head to the ground
feel the grass tickle her ear
and listen to the
beat
beat
beat
of his earth

beat 
beat 
beat 
of 
home
 

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