These days

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.