Stripped of her vices so she was left with only fingernails
to scratch at peachy skin.
Shards of crimson coated glass
felt foreign in my possession.
Nights got hazy and lines blurred
when her cheek had to be smacked free
from historic nightmares of older boys
and tainted orange juice.

We existed in shades of sallowly lingering gray,
between soft coos and forked tongues.

Straight jackets cannot clamp wild hearts.
Pulse points are really hidden under our ribs.
How could my arms be enough when the world has never been?
The caged bird beats its wings into a frenzy.