Wing Poem

You rub my back
On my shoulder blades
you touch the places where my wings once were.
I don’t know where they are now.
Sometimes I ache in their absence
I look for them.
Maybe they are buried beneath the rumpled bedclothes.
no.
Maybe they are on the topmost shelf, obscured by dust and guarded by cobwebs.
no.
I’ve already searched under the bed, behind the doors and in the cupboards.
I wonder where they are now.
More importantly, how did I lose them?
I have no memories.
My skin in the places where they were attached is raw. Sensitive.
I feel them sometimes like I imagine amputees feel their phantom limbs.
Where they worn away by everyday forces?
Did they atropy  from lack of magic?
Was it a knife, quick, cold and cruel?
Or were they just torn from me as if I was a fly in the hands of a mean child.
You kiss my back and I feel less raw.
A few more kisses and I giggle.
I can almost feel them now.