Not as sweet, but
hits the spot
on this rainy
Summer’s eve;
underneath the
bursting clouds,
taste buds
seeking a release.

Need a little
pick-me-up,
a familiar medicine,
satisfaction guaranteed,
with a lenient
return policy.

Finally, you feel her
shape, unseen
on the bottom shelf:
a natural alternative
to the sugar you can’t
have.

Planted on one leg,
extending my
arms to the sky,
I’m furnishing this
space,
holding my head up
high.

Your feet stepped so near,
shoes swept the
grass,
I hoped
you would see
the gold coils
draping my cheeks
and the bonfire
in my
eyes.

I stretched out
my spine so I
could stand tall,
and wished you
would notice
the fairest of them
all.

You got in your car,
I could see the
wheels rolling,
left me
grounded here,
with the sun
burning through
my fibers.

Hair brush in one
hand, the other on
the wheel,
the morning radio
whistles
in my ear,
as I speed,
skipping thoughts
I’m not prepared
to hear.

Sealed inside
this air-conditioned
steel,
I check my
rear-view mirror;
watch the
sun show off rays
that I can’t
feel.

I change lanes
as I make and
cancel plans,
racing with time,
wait a minute….
today is only just
beginning…

In a glass
building,
I waited in stillness,
drenched in
cold sweat,
until our eyes
met
and you chose
me over
the
others.

The door swung
open and
your firm grip
carried me away.
With a smile, you
raised me up to
meet your face.

Suddenly,
I was
bowing down,
kissing your
mouth, my
insides pouring
into you.

Swallowing my
elements, you
extinguished
your
appetite
and soothed
the hunger,
awake
within your
belly.

With your
your hands
skating
over my sleek,
designer
dress,
we danced
sugar high.

Wings fluttered there,
under the cotton
skin, behind the
bars your fingers
pressed and pulled.

Wings started flapping
in the waft of air,
that produced breath
where before there
was no room.

Wings flickered so,
the chains were
rattling now, a
moan, a sigh, a
taste of the
sky.

Wings trembled still,
until the spell
was broken, the lock
had given way
and the cage door
flew open.

I built myself
a prison,
my address: flesh
and bones.
I built myself
a prison,
some walls to call
my home.
Inside: a ceiling
painted black,
a fireplace
so cold.
I built myself
a prison,
shackled my heart
with thought,
and squeezed and
showed my soul
into a tiny hole;
to cover all
the bases, blindfolded
my eyes so,
although the gate was open
there was no place
to go.

Language stumbles
over edges of
teeth,
stuck in the lips’
door as I
contemplate
which word to
release next.
The universe
requests the truth,
but I am not
ready, I say, “I
need to think about
it some more,” but
clumsy phrases
waltz together without
rhythm, and
inconveniently
emerge,
without warning,
breaking out of
my embrace
and into the realm
of perception.