Balloon
Once you may have have flown high-
a signal for the lost,
lustful,
and languid.
Now,
deflated and limp you let out a sigh.
Or was it a sign,
unsure as to whether or not
it was your time to surrender?
I found you tightly tied
to a steel pole
your umbilical chord to this stagnant state,
shown wet with the dew of this new morning.
I took salty hands and sweaty brow and stumbled upon a surrender
that I had no right to supply.
Removing you from your complacent state,
Stirred by the static and sensual.
So beautiful,
your red,
a deep red-
Red streaked with residue
from the soiled fingertips
that traced your rubbery skin.
Now here on my desk,
lifeless.
Your damp carcass of man made skin.
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