Wordle #73 “Apple-chaser”

Week 73

Her lips paw clumsily at the air,

Deliverance sought in lieu of sobriety.

She siphons herself from the echoes

Of their evading jeers, a target

Not of designation but of connotation.

Her lofty brow pants,

A cask upended in frivolity.

An uninvited touch soft as chamois

Shrugs aside her hurried fists.

Her heart has gills to avoid drowning,

Notches carved through galaxies

Of flesh and illusion.