You say you want to pirate the audio
of my laughter, that you want to crawl into
my mouth and wrap yourself up inside the
warmth of my voice.
I imagine you holding my heart in your hands,
softened by the way it trembles like a shaken dove.
How easily it startles. Your fingers don’t feel
like any cage my bird-heart has ever been in.
You don’t crush its bones between your palms,
or cut the song out of its throat.
Instead, you marvel at the percussion of its wings.
Instead, I give you permission to hear me sing.
To reach into the abandoned museum
of my body and flood it with light.
Hit the switch and watch me glow.