my rosie
leaves, moves through pallets,
rises through the afternoon quiet,
strengthens, peaks,
reaches a crescendo,
a swallow of poured
perfection
and tells me
she is sweet enough

She writes and reads and steals
My heart bursts balloon like
My head reels
Perfect eyes cast downward towards page and screen
Lips mouth unknown words
As unknown as a name
As a kiss
As a life past or yet to come.

"Why is it called a crush?"

Because that's how you feel when
They don't feel the same way in return.

we are free birds, they say

yet we will never forget
the cages we were once trapped in

singing between silver bars,
hoping our song would reach
the world beyond our prison

well, it reached you

but I still sing
so that you may always be reminded
that whilst you’ve found me, and released me

I am not a free bird
I am merely a caged bird, set free