‘The Mind Wants What It Wants’

Everything, please
Just enough to let me touch the ceiling – bejewelled – and ten million tippy-toed times over
When you finally neglect to use your shoulder for the usual colder than reasons
And prop me on up entirely
A fire finally burning within both of our seriously typical, utterly willing adolescent bellies
When we smile and dance atop one another – yo-yo perfection – getting to recall exactly what it may just have been that our mothers told us
Once upon a rhyme