let me touch our souls together once more:
comforting insecure heart breaker pocket lover,
be mine - i show up to class but i'm
still in your bed there's
no time for sleep
only dreams of
pink hands and red tea
unconditional
keychain
of
me.

from      time        to      time
there is     a romance      of being       alone
   the     imaginations       she  powdered
                                 generously    upon the   colorless  reality.
      metaphors   that  she sews    upon the   sleeves
                         of     melancholy.
her girlfriends   and she    roamed
                 the    ups  and     downs of the  earth,
while their        mothers screamed
                                    for   them      to be ladylike.
     saturday afternoons,
they   procrastinated    upon   pastries and     honey
                 crystallized           fairy      tales
courteous     animals
                                 riding on the      coattail of      dreams
      a lighthearted                feeling    others tried to      snooze.

they    observe things         through glitters    of their vapor.
    they   dote on the    humor of ice    creams
                       and sunlight       of   scarlet pink.
    as we    laugh    with charm,
                                            what a    way   with words,
                 a   lopsided    smile,
a      head    of   curls,
                                        a    flock     of  girls.

surrounded by
shell-glossed earthtones
teals on magenta
images of americana,
from native moccasins to
an embroidered 50 states
(of slices of mind)
engraved tobacco canister,
grandpa’s favorite pipe
crafted crochet blankets
spun out from grandma’s hands
like magic
one antique menorah
lit in holiday memories
books and photos in movie star
glamour mixed with
wild-haired natural
smooth polished woods and
painted cityscape, all
slick rugged cozy
colorful trinkets against
subtle plush
of beige, elegance of
textures in tandem
love’s timeless flame
wrapped around me,
like a flannel blanket
acceptance and welcome
ringing
in my pores like freedom
and I float upon this bed
in my mother’s home,
once mine
(still mine)
as in a river
flowing out tendrils
our bond unbroken
past and present bathing me
in deep-seated roots of caring
what more could a daughter,
now also a mother,
ask for