I looked down at my hands and they looked like they weren't mine
and if I did try to find the time I don't think it'd be quite easy to find
the real me - the one whose under the covers - yes,
the fragility of the lace on a wedding dress
a promise to myself and all that I am or will be,
a very dry look at my civility

so let the doves out, baby, let them spread their feathers
and when your head is gone I'm sure it will make you feel much better to know they have a chance at flight,
death
and the hunt.

being alive is odd and all, I feel the withdrawal from safety as I try to find it in cigarettes
and laughter
and *****
and the general jubilant wildness of being young
for today.