Captive

A little rum, and this short poem came out…

Captive

Mine is a pleasant cage,
but I will the air to burn.

Dreams, like origami unfolded, trace
the telltale lines of your clever beauty.

Is all the world a lie to lust for?
Must an arm’s length be your worth?

Age is less than counting time
and space more than your uncounted smiles.

 

© Brad Skiff

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