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I want fresh pineapples everyday, and bananas
with 2% milk and honey-roasted peanut butter,
which isn't a lot to ask for in comparison to pedicures
or the high-end expectations of the last blonde-locked
ambition that you coiled around your arm.

Pears and carrots, green-leaf lettuce, tomatoes
with a bag of yellow lemons. A window to the city.
A ticket out of foster homes and ramen noodles
and halfway houses where bitches beat you down
and break your ankle for a used laptop and hairbrush.

I'll grow out of this cast and into my wings, fold you
into my body, and when I find my voice I'll sing
like a little jeweled bird in her Emperor's cage.
You'll age, and I'll pretend I never notice. We'll be
what poets call Spring and Winter, and live Happily.