Molten Corps

by kholinar

The work of the cuckoo was to find the scent absent their knees. It went with bars horizontal like ladders, but lacking portability.

Like bars, but lacking drink.

Like lacking, but imbued.

Amplified, the rungs slung closer to the center, melting successful polarized attractants. Rust began to formal, bow and tied to otter slides. It waited like Paris’s quiver, bowing for mortal weakness.

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