She stands on the tips of her toes
Feeling the muscle stretch
Reaching up, but her nails hardly
Breech the air
She lets them drop
Slowly
Back to the side of her loose gown
And like a well lubricated
Machine the gears in her feet
Turn until they rest firm on the ground.
Outside
Down a carpeted hall
Lights and shadows flicker
On beige walls
They don't make pictures.
She pulls back the thick bed covers
The cool sheets appear
Tonight they are clean,
She slivers into bed
Her head engulfed in the pillow
Her dreams smothered between bed
And blanket.
She whispers silently to the darkness:
"No flying tonight."
A collection of poems and musings by a rookie poet and constant dreamer - J.O.S.H
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