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The Wings We Lack

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Converse.

My mother’s sweater.

Clean that up

No sandwich for you.

Tie dye and fizzy tea

It’s not okay

What does this look like to you?

You’re wrong.

More of a man than you are

No weave of golden hair.

I’ve never been too good with secrets

Not always gold.

Bursting of looms

Send droplets soaring

Across the stale air

And into thine eye

As I jump into bed

And fall fast asleep.

Dreaming.

Further extensions of my crooked thoughts

A daily occurrence

Unfulfilled longing

Closer now.

Healing from the outside in

Goodbye and good luck.



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