NaPoWriMo: Day twenty nine

If grey has a scent

It is of wet earth

The smell of a dead storm

The giants that we are

Reached out and picked pieces of the air

One breathe at a time

As hungry as vultures

We shed our feathers for fresh clothes

Less ragged

Less heavy

We told each other stories about how we each survived winter

You pointed to scars that no-one else had seen

And for each one

I gave you a story

Of dragon wars and raging wolves

In each there was truth

And then we lay there

In the cool light

All our battles done

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