she keeps in a drawer
with her socks. Sprinkled with
dewdrops in lemon and
sage. And strings them together

on a long goose feather slowly
turning the page. Her pupils
are a tunnel of deep-fried funnel
cakes. And she blinks like

a lightning bug when she's
wearing a mug of strawberry
wine and buttered sunshine after
a long hard day. Her iris is shamrock

green that falls between a whisper and
a sliver. She's riding the river of dreams.
There's a hint of starlight that she holds to
tight. It peppers her lens with cream.