your shoulder blades
look like wings
the way they fold,
flit and flutter
when you move.
crushing together
when you're upset
or angry,
moving farther apart
when you're calm.
but the only
time my angel flies
is in his dreams.
when he finally,
completely,
unfurls and
takes flight.
reality locks him in,
holding his wings
down tight with their
invisible locks
and chains.
he only sheds them
in sleep,
in the world beyond.
I lightly trace them,
going over them gently
as I lay beside
your dreaming form.
in the day
he looks so nervous
furling, half unfurling,
all day, looking every
which way in case of
attack.
but fly,
my pretty bird,
my beautiful angel,
show me what it
looks like to fly.
show me what it looks
like to not be afraid.
fearless.