inbetween

bored with me,
I bend
and twist towards something new,
an unstale view.
I let the wind
catch me
and heave me towards a new
a moon,
a fat yellow sun.
I want to be young again,
refreshed with love,
whether imaginary,
or real,
or perfectly
old and content,
spent and removed from youth.
this waiting, this vague
in between, this sameness
needs to go.