A good incentive to go under the chicken wire

One morning, Freudian slips
mouth themselves from my lips
Sweeps creep into my dreams
and I wish for the same thing
annually.

But I wouldn’t say it matters;
the concavity of my body
is no longer
a good fit for these thoughts.
My mind is occupied
stormed, even
by enemy troops in rainy gear
who march me into camps
sodden with normalcy.
It is horrific, love, you’ve no idea –

In my mind your eyes burn
a hole through my shirt pocket
and I feel the colour of your heart
quiver against the Polaroid
Thoughts like these are
of course
strictly off the record,
and if I’m caught –

But I wouldn’t say that’s likely;
I am above and beyond this,
and while my fingers
wrestle with dresses
I slip under chicken wire
and make for the prairies
free.

You will never stop amazing me.