even when i am winged
i am benign,
i am beginning.
walking with my feet tied
so loosely to the concrete
by puppet strings;
made of words & cream
& other fragile things not
to be touched,
only to dream.
a marionette trembling
with grabby fingers pulling & drooling
oil onto my chest -
heavy, but it will leave me
slick not sticky,
ready for the finale.