hold my tongue
with your weathered, learned teeth.
stop me from biting again.

as much as i yearn to impress
my throat onto your heads,
my orator just runs to the press.

so yet again your wings outstretched,
making my shade not to burn like you have,
and to keep your gut in the cold.

looking up from rest to your gaze,
my weight on you sustaining
that phantom limb's need to lift.

is this muscle meant to be trained,
or shouldn't we need it in the first place?

i could let these bottles float on
if i just swam along in the current,
but that would reduce their stories to pawns.

or i could show them my scrolls
and compare our notes,
but they can't bear the critique.

so, when we visit the rat, we sleep
as not to stir the vermin progeny.
but on the other hand i throw myself
in the way of your restless beak.

i may be hanging back as we all navigate these trails
but i know i'm pulling your hands
to try and steer where you lead.