Untitled

Frosty white tips on a cake Flow like waves in the ocean With our bodies wrapped, Enraptured in a white lake, drowning In the sun till our skin glows Glassy and passive, that’s how it feels Looking through a window, sitting like Two casts constrict my moving appendages Like a cast constricts my heartbeat, and I bite And I swallow it somewhere far down And around the bend, closer than I’ll ever want to know, you sit Laying low and I want to stroll in Dawn after the sun can stare at our backs But we can turn and face it, staring back. I try to cut through the cake, but There’s nothing here except fake plastic. The knife lies jagged on the surface, while You try to burn candles melting through To the purpose, emitting gases, I bequeath, “That’s not a birthday cake!” a statement Left, lingering in the air as smoke hides what’s beneath.