Longing

Willful abandon as you float in a cage.

Time may pass,
Yet this lust remains.

Clinging to clean corners and taffeta mornings,
Poached eggs and an open deck of cards.

Hopeful gazes kept behind pursed lips
And a plume of smoke.

Five of cups, upside down—
Grief always close but lately worn with purpose and dashing accessories.

You’re safe here, little bird,
With pale feathers woven in twine.
Peace teeters on the precipice,
A delicate moment in time.

Tricia Chérie