as empty & spent
& all-worried-out
i could be bursting from the hip,
from my feet, ankles, mouth

changes should be instore
but if i continue holding hands against the fateful breeze,
still leave my shoes at the door
wishing for some miracle
when i return,
then what can be expected
but an expected out-of-turn?

i should have been a lady-in-waiting
trapped only by indulgences that i
would gladly die among.