Twenty-nine belts bravery from a bottle. It feels like all talk and no game. Twenty-nine has thighs that don't lie and a finger that motions you to come closer. It relearns each facet of love and finds beauty in its own reflection. Twenty-nine betters the invention instead of reinventing it. It imagines kissing strangers to feel alive and gifts the pearl to the jewel thief with no words- only smiles. Twenty-nine strikes a match in the middle of a pitch black nowhere, only to see the smoke twist up and away. It cracks and hisses when it feels its been forgotten. It smells like pine needles, orange peel, and sun bleached cotton. Twenty-nine forgets those who have forgotten it but thanks them for the lessons. It likes church but only for the music, architecture, and sociology. Twenty-nine won't apologize for passion or pity, but it will drip with empathy at inopportune times. Twenty-nine steeps itself in scalding water only to discover its true flavor. It finds no comfort in the opinions of others but will only rest at the signal of a nod of approval. Twenty-nine looks down into the neverending and can't decide if it wants to jump or run. It handstitches a parachute as it dangles one foot over the edge, says a prayer to no god but writes hymns that bring tears. Twenty-nine keeps breathing. It keeps breathing.