we sit over tree trunks
and bury ourselves six feet
under the layers of shadows in our heads.
the lightbulbs in our pupils
once shined so bright
that they've blackened,
but we've had them ******* into our minds
for so long that we're scared
to replace them.

i'm swirling the galaxies in my ***** mug of tea
while i'm watching you wish you could become
as small as the morning pills
that the nurse dropped into your hand.
you're counting the calories of hunger
while i'm sticking fingers down my throat,
and we're wishing we could become so thin
that we could slip into the cracks
of the asphalt beneath our feet.

we're sitting in adjacent beds of flowers
in the middle of the road
and i'm laughing at the way
geraniums form on your tongue
as you savor the accompanying taste
of the honey-covered apples you kept in your pockets.
we sit under mushrooms with calligraphy pens,
ink freckles adorning our knees
and our hair wet with tears from old lovers
who left clouds hanging above our heads.

if you and i can look past the differences
between brownies and spiders,
we can look past the thoughts
of button pins and stomach acid.
together, we will make our own rainbows
out of rose water mist
and the light bulbs we finally replaced.
we will sew stars and heart-shaped leaves
onto bow ties and blankets and basketballs
for the day we play four-square with our little sisters.

are you ready?