Losing Stick

[Lizzie]

We're falling a little sooner
every day. I see how we've warped,
what too many yesterdays abstracted;
we're stickers losing stick.

Every morning
I press us together
but our edges won't lay flat,
and it takes a little less
commotion, less friction,

                  for separation,
                                                  till now

just a whorl of cold air
from a door opening

makes us fly.

We're falling a little sooner
every day; I see how we've warped,
what so many yesterdays have taken.
We're stickers losing stick.
     
Every morning
I press us together
but our edges won't lay flat,
and it takes a little less
commotion, less friction,
           
              for separation,
                                               till now

just the rush of cold air
from a door opening and we fly

down like feathers.