Untitled 12/9

The soles of my boots weather;
time flows on like molasses.
I wander, knowing no general
direction, feeling my way forward
into the premature dusk of
northern winter evenings.
During the daylight hours
I may be caffeinated, timid,
or tame; Come night, I wish
to dance with you, to play
and make games, to hasten
about in a crazed yet
idyllic way – to spread
my wings, blacker than
the falling twilight,
and breathe in the deep,
cool air.

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