Keep sharpening your teeth on my
iron fittings and feeling up my
velvet underground upholstery with
your streetwise alley cat paws and big
gun Remington revolver ballpoint pen
Try to rob these recondite rubies from my
helicopter heart if you can and
follow my complimentary contrail with
your caloric vocabulary until you tire of
my transom and finally bolt like the January wind
I might stay in midnight sight just barely long
enough for my spinnaker curls to furl in twists
around your wrists and make you my
pie in the sky prisoner forever

Written by Sara Fielder © May 2015