You tell me it is a fly thing

I stare at you for clarification

Giving me a grin, you shake your head

So...what?

No longer, 'a fly thing'?

What does that even mean?

Will I be seeing wings protrude out of your bony back, feathers falling to the ground?

Will they be a glimmering white or more of a cream that matches your skin

Soft to the touch or an unsuspecting coarse texture

You cannot, cannot, cannot leave me hanging with, 'a fly thing'

I will be checking, prodding your back as soon as you are in a deep sleep

Carefully adjusting my weight, slowly slithering away from the blanket just so I can take a peek

But not even getting that far

Because my mind

My limbs

My very being will be busy

Attentive to other, 'fly thing'(s)