and me, red riding hoodless

I fill my pillow with tears and feathers
toothaches and the fluff of soul
that steers my mind between breath
and thought of y ou.

I paint the moments in the vibrant yellow
of seconds, the harsh scarlet of unharvested hours
and the moping empty cyan skies of your words
in my head.

These are the unwhispers of night  in my bed
that become the eternal haunting song of what if
the melody of what i do not understand
about love and all the other maybes I have felt

when I was afraid of termites and  how you
that might digest my heart. Now, here I am
plucked and ready. The new chicken pecking out
a sleepless dream you're not the wolf.