Make me feel like Fred Astair

She was strong. My language. Tougher

than stone. Sturdier than wood. Her kiss  

was soft. Smooth like a wolf clamp. Silky

like sour horse milk. Did I have a choice?

Could I escape her rusty bars? Her chains?

Could I avoid her handcuffs, shackles?

Every day I greeted them. Words like past

ridicule. Statements like future sarcasm.

Maybe it was a dream. Maybe it's a desire.

One day. It's written on the wall of my cell.

'Freedom is the ability to create one's own

language.' Then it started to dawn on me.

My language is softer than water. Lovelier

than the sky. I broke the chains, walked

through walls. I inhaled the words like air.

Words like friends, phrases like love affair.