waking me from the longest
night's slumber. Peeling my clothes
off like a cool cucumber. This buzzing
in my ear. His wavy jet-black hair. Swimming

in ocean eyes, the size of apple pies. The waft
of cinnamon is my insulin. But a man with
violet cotton shirt and cufflinks the color of
rose pink is an eidolon that swam off

like a swan in the raining pale
grey dawn. But in this head, he smokes
of feather silky strokes. The bumps on
a goose. This man I can't shake

loose. I've not of him to hold as the years
grow me old. The girl in me died dancing
a whirl on a rainbow slide, falling off
a cloud just as her eyebrows.