Cherubic Hymn

Such an urgency to leave, 

I've come up with at least 10

exit strategies for most conversations. 

If the point is staying, and it is, 

what do I do with this urgency I feel. 

I'd rather there be a release or a New Earth. 

Instead, my feet are encapsulated in concrete

and I have 653 balloons tied to my arms. 

Exposure; this is a word I've begun floating

as an attribute of the divine. 

All of the balloons tied around my wrists deflate

and drag me into the earth. 

What if I stayed in this conversation with you?