as.wings

power is such a
simple
disgusting

thing.

i would sew together
the cells i gave to you
with ink strands
laced with an
angel-wing-ed
feather-pen

if you let me.

your hands are still around my back.
and i'll keep them.

there.

until of course
you want them back

in which case i'll have to

re.
install

the ache which came prior
to the callouses on your
finger

tips

over a glass of water
and broke the clarity
with which it mocked

my dirty face

red with uncertainty
rouge with unstable

expect.
ations.

suri is the persian word for
crimson [is such a petty word]

used by romantics and cynics.
either for sex or blood.
for passion or for grief.

for loss.
or for loss.

the thought of equality
frightens me

the closer to the ground.
i am.
is all the better for.
if i fall while sitting.
i won't know the difference.

i'll disregard talk of such things
as wings

because the grass
which i clasp beneath my
curling [in prayer] palms-

-is your hair
and you are here.