Hiding
My face down in my quilt
I fear the peeping toms
The voids that I have left
Maybe there’s something to haunt
A window cracks open
A dove perched on the corner of my window pane
He seems happy
Tired of the flight
Yet unsure of the journey ahead
Maybe he never gives it a thought
It’s strange though
How the source of my happiness
And the source of only my happiness
Aren’t the same
I derive bliss from nature
I am happy in the bosom of a tree
My hands around its wood, clinching
Every piece of warmth around it
Only if, it were a woman
But it isn’t, but still
I am happy..
