Freedom looks good on you.

Dancing free;
A kite on a windy day.
But not so free as once thought,
She's got a hold on you.
String all fisted in chubby grip
and she's shrieking laughter.

You swoop and swivel
and brush through static air,
darting into my personal space,
only to vanish.

A spectre of my imagination
would be less tragic than this, girl.