Pulchritude

Not terribly sure about how clear this one is, but I like it.
All comments appreciated.

I'd love to hear thoughts on the little italicized parts - good/bad/neither?
Also, as usual: imagery? flow? I'm not satisfied with the second line, any thoughts on it?

enjoy

"Labyrinth Children"

I rebel against the boiling
Icarus-blood in my veins,
but still fill the labyrinth walls Daedalus builds around me.

Fire in the sky

We turn our bare bellies toward the sun and
are told we have to be pretty,
have to sweep away the light dusting of hair on our arms.
The early sting of hot wax
scalds like sunburns and redemption,
residual heat softening our skin
baby-new.

We pull feathers from our skin like scraps of time.

Our father builds splints and wooded frameworks,
and we turn our faces to burn them in blazing skies.
We wish only to sprout branches and grow ourselves sunward,
green needles flashing.
Daedalus looks for us, gleaming sunspots as we are —
a sound sharp and sticky like pine cones.

We are leaves, and a flick of their hands
sends us spiraling into the wind.