Jan
5
Climbed the stairs in your house
the walls were white
except for my silhouette
street lights reflect me
as your voice ascends
and becomes birdsong
my feet hardly touch the ground
my stomach wrenches and curls
it pines for swift movements
like the way the birds swoop
it’s orchestral
like your voice
that causes me to
fake a somersault
I’ll fake sadness for you
just to see
your hand touch mine
