I’ve made a home
under the covers
stacked in the closet,
where my fingers search
for the company of another,
grasping at dust bunnies
and a fantasy
that is reason enough
to lock myself away
behind musty winter coats
and passed down
bridal gowns.
Outside the butcher
sharpens his blade,
his skill no match
for a heart that
does not conform
to his ideals.
So I hide away,
not revealing my desire
for another girl’s lips
pressed against mine.