because i am too polite & you are too alone.

when He pulls the inside & the outside into a music box i leave it on my dresser to watch it spin & let the tune soak into my skin becoming more & more transparent i guess i wake up or at least stop cowering in the corner like a scared little girl.

i am hoping to experience instead of expect this time.

wings & blood & pasted spine
the story pulls me word by word
into a sort of unearthly being
not walking & certainly not flying
hovering in hope against hope
if i kissed him i would see through him
so i wait until i solidify
i fit into corners & press my back flat against the wall
would i could spin a cocoon
slipping into rest until i hear the voice that slices through my bones
'wake up o sleeper'
the light will shine upon my skin
veins visible to show what has been pumping in circuits
across my brittle body
when i am caught at last
inside an unplanned hand or two
my mouth will move again
words now long forgotten
but lacing their fingers around the edges of my dreams
it's all very nice but tonight i am only perched on a chair in a house on a street like any other