Knitting phonics with
you my little girl,
creature of my hours,
they can’t
diagnose our species,
can’t take our ciphered sneaks, our
private carbon.

Same briny blood rushing through us,
through the same veined webbing tying us together as
little prettygirl ribbons.

we paw through pointless muscle mass, throw away the same
uneventful words
they shoot at me as I might be
some abstruse channel to your head- ha!
But we’re hidden under glass.
I just laugh
though we are sweet as our own
honeyed apologies.
Who needs them, borne through clean teeth
for picture smiles, for biting at throats,
when there’s a boat coming for us.

I’m telling you,
I’m making our own carriage for
Queen Us,
making our own lovely “one day” fires.

Until then,
we’ll let them take one,
but get
two wide-eyed reflections,
four portals to one belied
behinddoor truth. Thinking they’re big, but
we’re just small,
mending our wrecks to sail together for them,
two shrouded youth-vessels
withholding formula
and time,
but always the same temperature.