My neck is a nest
The warmth in it an ever present creature that
Oscillates and breeds and collects
And attracts creatures that do not

My neck is a nest
That doesn't just need to nurture but
To be nurtured and
Touched and kissed and electrified
In order to keep that warmth

My neck is a nest
That rests on an unsteady beating branch
And hangs under a filament-ridden sky
Neither of which can ever agree
But to disagree on whether
Niceness or smoothness or alcohol or hidden agendas
Should have anything to do with
How the warmth is kept

My neck is a nest
Full of hatchlings that have already
Dropped and soared
Dropped and stopped
Dropped and swooped at the last second
Where they are now
I have only an inkling.

My neck is a nest
That wishes to blend with the
Twigs and leaves and eggshells
That become it and
Be humbly content with who
It wants to attract and collect and warm.