Up here
I’m excess,
without the right
tools to scribe
something worthy
of their attention.
This place is
no secret, it’s
well-known, just not
in the world of
you and I.
We can smirk
below the vanilla
clouds, the last
window to
elsewhere,
creep up only
when the winds
are quiet
and maybe
I could
love you
but always
on their terms.