if you could fold me in half,
you’d see the way my skin
wrinkles under your fingers.
each indent reveals every
way your touch manipulates
my body. it is small. impressionable.
fold me again and watch how
easily i collapse. crease the corners
and listen to the way i sing,
cradled in your palms. hold me.
don’t let go. we could talk about
how you would follow
wherever the wind takes me,
but what if the direction i
soar is not where you want to go?