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I want to go . . . . I want to, . . .- I just want to go . . . .

I verbally stumbled out to my girls as we sat on the bar making bad drinking decisions
––again.

Where, Where do you want to go
He said

Where am I taking you - he meant.

Where did he come from?
Who sent him to offer me everything?

No questions

freedom flowed into my lungs and begun to dance with my breath.

Their routine-less rhythm spun around my soul, intertwined, dizzy, taunting, and the ribs of my cage began to weep at the beauty of their movement.
weed; beaches; sleep; driving; driving, driving, driving, driving . . .

and . . . . . . . .

Where?

Nowhere,

I said

I can not let myself go with you - I meant.
My answer tracked his footsteps out the door.

I exhaled the dance, walked home, kissed our son goodnight, and
wondered,

has she come to you yet and where will you say you can go?

The sense of tension, the momentary euphoria generated by the thought of abandoning responsibility and saying 'yes', is palpable. In particular, I like this wordplay:

the ribs of my cage