My Favorite Bird

He speaks in movements;
words spun and sung 
ribbon-ned and bent 
like vintage candy sent;
hotly pressed
stretched, colored, and sugared
spiced and folded
like nothing molded
but bit singularly 
and soon solidly sweet
and taken in 
not yet thru these pouting parted lips
but thru my eyes and your years,
untinting fears 
from red to pink 
and kindly stirring starry tips
just beyond barriers unending
when our meeting upended
me;
you, 
my most favorite of birds:
do -
open these tin doors
barring my things 
that also sing
Welcomed in or joined beyond
let’s not do the dance 
of denying some feathered bond
unless of course
your coop is full
then It is I 
not shown sharp, but sharply dulled
and quickly I’ll be pulled to have flown