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Andromeda. Cassiopeia.
Pisces. Orion.
But the voices pull me back.
The interior me—the one
that flies—slips back inside
its shell, a turtle returning
home.
Home
. That word again.
The one that makes me
want to release tethers,
fly away.
Don’t fly.
Must find the voices
instead.
Girls. Devon. LaTreya.
Men. Brad.
Trey.
Trey? I’m
flying again,
but not away.
Flying from bed.
Flying from dreams
into awake, aware.
Flying from dreams
toward love in the flesh.
Halfway to the Door
I realize I must look like crap.
[Not to mention how you must taste.]
Quick detour to the bathroom,
