Wings
You have never been a bird who can fly high,
You are a bird that seems to fly too low,
But I marvel at how hard you fight and try,
For with all that sky there is room to grow.
-anna sluder
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"I like you" I opened the paper bag. It was still innocent, pulsing like butterfly wings incredibly alone and incredibly alive and I swept my fingertips along the greased sides gathering a bit of blood as it trembled warily I inched my hand across the table like easing poker chips forward into the colosseum of games and fears where no one comes out alive "I raise you," I whisper, tipping my closed hand ever so slightly so that I poured my blood onto the table like turning a time glass of sand. I waited. The time was caustic, like a match burning to the end. Then he nodded in admiration and we played on like children finding little things in the forest flowers and twigs and climbing and scraping our knees on trees trying to make sense of a collection of unplanned entities "I love you" I stared back down into my lap, into the bag, into the dark aorta and the valves I wrapped my fingers around it and eased it out with the timidity and doe...
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