afraid to close your eyes at night
you think of the pieces painted on
the back of your eyelids
less like Van Goghs Starry Night
more like Francisco Goya's Saturn's Sun
the walls of your mind holding black paintings
Quinta del Sordo
you are engulfed in them forgetting your roots
roots that have been torn from the earth
from a hand that now wraps around your waist
pulling, pulling, pulling
you awake and realize the hands are from a girl
who paints cherry blossoms in your mind
instantly you feel warmth rush through you
as you press your tear stained cheek
against hers