Boy, dark-smiled
I cannot scrub the lines from your cheeks
nor the time from your eyes
But if I kissed your crows’ feet
I bet
the frown that guards your mouth
would unfurl like a wing
And maybe
if you caged me to the wall,
kissed me back,
and made me sing,
that heavy bird of years
would heave off your shoulders, take flight,
and go roost in the rafters of some other soul
Outside, your scarecrow is watching us through the glass,
the fields at his feet a wild, thriving riot
There are no birds left to hold at bay
Oh,
oh
this season could be sweet for us
if only
you let it
Featured photo by David Clode on Unsplash.
