incarceration

It’s never spring inside

cement walls.

never.

Even through a window

she doesn’t lower her hair far enough

for me to climb into her arms and

relish all she is about.

I’m praying,

asking for things I have no business

begging for

and hoping for a miracle

when there isn’t one in sight.

I could pull myself out

up

but where’s the fun in that?

what’s so great about self preservation

when part of her allure

is that she is to die for?

I reckon things will play out completely

different

from anything I could dream up

but still

the dreaming’s the thing.