These flowered hours slither over my bare breast
and granite bottom lying me flat against
the washing machine waves
chopping my rhyme and riddle in half
with butterfly laughter alongside
the sage scented shoreline
This is my happy hippy hollow heart
where I can hear the wind without sin
and am not underfoot of your ethical authorization
This is the place where fear goes into hiding
and souls are turned into spheres of jade

Written by Sara Fielder © July 2015