By Charlotte Chilton
You hold me-
You carry me-
Like a dying bird-
I am still in your palms,
I am dreaming I can fly.
You hold me-
Firm to stop the shaking,
Gentle so as not to crush me.
You hold me-
Like I am the only girl in the world-
A girl you can’t afford to lose.
You hold me.
Your grip is a gentle plead,
Your hands are a distant cry,
Your body scrambles to speak-
But your lips are too busy kissing mine.
I ache to hear you-
But dead birds hear nothing.
I ache to feel you-
But dead birds feel nothing.
Why do I ache for you-
If a dead bird cannot ache?