Plasticine, Powder, Sprites, Sweet Nothings
Swarm robots sing your dreams of snow angels.
They flutter in formation, flinging up flakes.
Engineered wings whispered together:
"Rise from the pack ice, wait for my kisses
of polymers and airfoils and programs - I'm pining to play with
persistence of vision and time...in time.
Watch what I've wished for rise from the powder in time...
Be mine... in time..."
Copyright © Bryant Ohara | Year Posted 2015
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