birdcage
you ask me if i’m okay ⸻ with elevators? which strikes me odd, the way your eyes do
we board & take flight to the control room, 42 teacups on brass hooks carefully cluttered views
press my buttons, down with the same force you use to operate machines. the right pressure matters
the doors close around your fingers, lights flicker surging harnessed power i can’t look away, i won’t
we fall together back to earth where we stumble into your unmarked van. click of clear recognition
the next time i step into your cage you kiss my eyes closed and pull a lever that stops time
we’re suspended⸺ trapped in moments of wrought iron pressed against their grates and each other’s full frames
for as long as we are, we get to be happy