Till you say

I would never say

You were just an accidental poet

Shoulders back, wing-perfect posture

You emerge from mid-morning 

Incidental hibernation

Lament- second to last,

Second to last

Explain it is not the tighties you mind

But the dull, uneventful patternless white

I must not forget these words fixed in light 

till you say?

Just a little bit…just a little bit

…but you said, no! You. Just. Said. No.

Child of perfect posture 

Butterfly wings

Please, please always, always

Fly home, my little winged one.