delicate and
precious, beauty
important as you
spin in circles, your
bluish-yellow dress
fanning out
around you in
silk ruffles. you are
visible to us all,
bright to the
naked eye,
stunning.

cratered with
folds and wrinkles
tucked into your
grey skin. i kiss you
on the cheek, you
eighty-eight year
old woman, and
claim i cannot
wait for your
messages from
heaven.

melodies of
planets lay sprinkled
into your fingertips.

i play each one, pressing
my lips to the pads,
glowing as you lull me
off into a slumber full of

you, and of me, and of us.

i spin in
circles, dollops of
star-kissed pieces of sky
trailing down my
spine.

moment of fresh
exuberance excite the
possibility of
you and me, once and
for all.

grey;
light on the lips.

breathes out loud,
whispering,
snowflakes on your
eyelashes.

you brighten a room
with it, you darken a
mood with it,
you ask me if i
like it.

mending,
sealing wounds,
crisp air,
trembling minds -
soothed.

can you tell me
what you think of me
grey shoes?

i’m the
type of person
to wake in the
middle of the
night
just to
jot down a good
story idea and then
not be able to
sleep
as the story
unfolds
on the
backs of my
closed eyelids.

sometimes,
you wonder why
flowers get picked if they’re
just going to die.

or maybe why they were
planted in the first place.

or why they are
potted,
soiled,
admired,
kept-up,
if all they’re
going to do is
drop petals and leave
you to clean up the
mess.