I wonder
I
orange city sky
because I breathe only
occasionally and restlessness
picks up leaves and
tosses them into
expectant hands.
the city seems unfamiliar
in a way that I need
and my eyelashes
bemoan the irony.
I’ve been here
my entire life.
I love here,
but I need there.
grand bricks mock my
unappreciative lungs.
II
on this sparkling morning
the tree beyond my open window
created a pasture.
perhaps because I needed
a pasture and I may
or my not have truly believed
it. I stood there for
a moment, quiet
in the whisper of choreographed
grass. My under-tongue
stretched, yawned, and
sprawled leisurely.
III
I believe in chocolate croissants, weighty lips, grass dampened toes, breezes through windows, autumn in thirsty nostrils, colorful scarves, getting out of class early, global warming, toadstools, kitchen dancing, soft butterfly wings, meandering rivers, once upon a time, cool piano keys, banana chocolate chip bread, and foam on my nose.
I don’t believe in lectures.
IV
Please.
I imagine myself
in sheer clothing,
sunlight spotting
visiong, and lips
active with
emotion. How
can I? What can
I? When? Oh, when?
All I want is the
lovely, but I suppose
I need the not so
lovely first. But
I want flowers,
always flowers,
and patterned gingham
and soft hope
I cheekbones.
The sparkle of
light in weighty
eyelashes, white
linens, cranberry
juice on a
windowsill,
soft lips to soothe
my ever moving,
ever emoting ones.
Where has my
reality gone?
I can’t strive for
fantasy.
