Natural glitter sparks on the ground.
Like the vivid wool wrapped around his neck,
He creates plain music with his footsteps.
I'm on my spot, singing within his beat.
Frosty air cools his bare skin.
Manufactured skin warms him.
His lips cry out for his friend.
I'm on my spot, tweeting as he roars.
Jenny scurries to his lap.
When greyscale stripes warm her,
She embraces him with her paw.
I'm on my spot, feathers as friends.
I watch him lift Jenny up;
she pricks his wrinkles.
He smiles without pain.
I'm off my spot, walking on wind.
Credit goes to Metamence from sppf.