GreyBean

The sky is flecked with
golden stars.
Cream-colored stones splatter
the bark ground,
and I balance on my padded feet
as I walk across the bridge
made of a single tree trunk. 
My toes grip around strips of leathery

I swim in pitch black seas,
flaming stars dotting the depths. 
The seeds of figs slowly creep
into trees of metal
and stone leaves. 

Eyes became dim,
recognition hazy, 
minds foggy

She hoards little bottles of 
perfumes
on the shelves of her kitchen,
each drowning in its own scent —
cinnamon, mint, tulip, basil, berry. 
Her sets of blue and white china
are stored in dusty 

I want to reach for Jupiter's moons,
and I'll pour honey into the empty
shells
of coconuts. 
It doesn't seem impossible 
to grab a fistful of black sand
from the bottom of the ocean. 

If I were to create a list of things that remind me of laughter and childhood,
the list would be too long,
but I wish it would never stop. 

I miss visiting New York in autumn, 

  The first thing I notice is the smell of lemon poppyseed bread. Well, that and the thought that sweat is rolling down my fur. I'll smell in a few minutes, I know, if I don't get out from under this abandoned paper bag and move around.