Draw On Me

The dumbfounded. The lost. Broad like an eagle's wings. It soars. Under the cloak of reason.

Forward momentum. Takes me higher. Pushing these sheltered limbs upward in the arc of their predecessors. Younger. Stronger. Less inclined to fall.

Don't I wake up exactly the same way. Hurried lids revealing a world that exceeds anything I can hope to be. So alive all the while I sleep. Painfully sober all the while I deeper dig this grave.

If I could know I wouldn't want. To choose between truth and bliss. Picking up that feather. Spoiling it with this ink. Words that attempt to mimic the flight as it passed over. As I watch the feathers fall and know not how to catch them.

The poets. The friends. The rivers strangely not leading to their sources. What can I keep other than these words. Nothing else is mine.

Drawing on each other until every speck of flesh is covered. And then we look for a new page. Person. Poet. Penis. Lover. Pussy. Friend.

Drawn on. Drawn in. Until myself stares back at me from inside them.. Drawn on. Can't you see yourself in me?

How hard I've worked to disguise it.