Clouds have nothing to do with airplanes
Like my body has nothing to do with my love
You can find the fingers in the heat of things
Wings of metal shaking through invisible turmoil, what they call "turbulence"
I used to not mind the undefined of the sky
I used to ease from point to point with a smoothline
I've taken up highlighting
High as a three year old on a merry go round
High as the senior in my gym class was over the summer
High over a point of footnotes
I've been appointed as chancellor of struggle on the opaque side
Feel it, touch it, never know it
Airplanes have nothing on my heart
Which can do almost anything you tell it not to do
The clouds hold you and me, a symphony held on the end of a conductor's wand
Earning feathers as I lose bolts
Destiny in the pocket of a silver lining made of your blonde curls
Happiness laced in the covers of our duvet
Which was my duvet before
I don’t call it that anymore
Ownership has nothing to do with the night