Things are different.
I don't know when they changed
or when I noticed them changing.
But in any case,
my eyes are open now
and I see that things are upside down.
At first it was just a drop
here and there.
An odd interaction
or a surprising text.
But now
it is steadily raining-
a consistent and strong pitter-patter
above my head.
And now,
my head is tilted back
my eyes closed
enjoying the storm
and waiting for the downpour.
there is nothing
as pure as
sitting
in near-darkness
soft fabric beneath you
and a fire dying by your side
feeling fat drops of salt water
course down your face
Flowers of songs are arranged in bouquets in my brain.
Not by genre
or artist
But by which dance from my life they transport me back to.
The daisies,
Poetry is hard in the winter.
It is inexplicable but,
for me,
definitely true.
In the spring, summer, and fall,
there are limitless possibilities,
endless inspirations.
Comments
Log in or register to post comments.