Balloon
My friend was my red
balloon and I
her blue.
I held her ribbon tight
though she let me slide through
a fretting ascent;
even gravity and my wilt
would not free me from
those power lines–
until, like a nickel flipped
to see how often heads
would tail (and just as I felt sure
I’d failed),
she’d catch me, a smile itself
full touch.
Oh, how much
we loved,
through the lows of halls, the highs
of wished-for falls,
street, sky– all rising
for some brief while
like bread, sun, moon, warmth, hunger–
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A drafty poem for Grapeling’s ‘get listed’ prompt on Real Toads. Pic is mine.
ManicDDaily 
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