fragments
pool under my skin, press outward on the thin layer between
here and now and
me and now
when they fissure and seep out
they are glass jars on my desk, dotted with fruits,
plants watered and green,
they are summer days spent living
in short dresses, feeling everywhere on the bottoms of your thighs.

I am walking around in a haze of love,
melodies of days spent into the ground,
the perpetual feeling of contentedness with these
broccoli concoctions, incredible people,
the beauty of how a warm day falls into place
and filters through glass jars
blossoming with the hardwood floors of tomorrow.