Mouthful of Feathers
When her mouth opens,
I hear snapping sticks.
I am her twisting twig,
sending smoke signaled options,
waiting for her wrist wrung gasoline of rejection.
She has ran ragged, straight into raw-
“These things,” she says,
“have no place in your home.”
“Sit.” I tell her-
“Just sit on this couch and evolve with me;
Change your mind time and time again.
Contradict your yesterday-
Just keep a spot for me,
Inside of you-
Her mouth opens shut.
We kiss between the same cotton sheets that dream catch my thoughts of her..
The sunshine confessed:
And she signed her name-
I spoke confessions of resignation and redirection over a mouthful of feathers-
leading her out of the door, long before her feet hit the floor-
I've packed up my cape and unpacked my clock,
I just perpetuate pillow talk...