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