A song of anticipation follows
black leather of footsteps
seconded by the pitter pattering
of a fist-sized machine
I am jailed by your memory
these bars of sunlight
and walls of scented smoke
and brown woods with picture frames
of evening coffee stains and cherry lipgloss
mend spaces at the back of my head
eventually, present becomes a cage
I, arrest this bird fearing fly
and longingly said to return.