I yearn for astonishment 

A soft, downy blanket like a snow angel

Sculpting to my curves

A pine cone to my rib

The scent, intoxicatingly awakens me 

My velvety soul

The phantom lunging toward the iron bars

That cascades like a spill

Of scalding, treacherous drink

Unsound, the cage catapults

To the sordid, flaked underbelly

Of my being, peeling like antiquated paint