Detrimental to my skin are the caged beaks,
clawing from beneath, scratching bruises
in shades only I can feel.
My overgrown feathers wrap around me,
a shroud and a shield—
enough to hold me, yet never enough to choke.

If only they would.
If only they’d cover me whole,
cocoon me in darkness
until I am nothing but breathless night.

But instead, I find myself longing to be suffocated,
not by this cold weight but by soft hyacinths,
their petals brushing my feet,
closing around me like a final kiss from the earth.

Let them rise, lilac and violet,
fragrant like memories—
until I am overcome, gently,
by something that wants to hold,
not harm, as I do.