My toes would like to feel the sand
fevered -
to warm their soles.
Instead he keeps them in the dark
because he holds control.
My hair will sigh its views offhand
in hopes -
to whisk around.
But any strand seen out of place
are forced to lie back down.
My skin has made its own demands
eager -
to feel the light.
He fears the sun might blister them
and rather risk frostbite.
The mind thinks like a minuteman
straightlaced -
to win some war.
marching quiet in the shadows
steps trodden as a chore.
My lips, I think, might heed his plan
so chapped -
this brittle skin.
With worry that the scortching heat
would scar a cautious grin.
But perhaps if my body banned
jointly -
like eyes to see.
we may learn how our life could be
if heart, like lungs, could breathe.
©adriesyne
A