Jul 17

I paint with my eyes closed:

There are days 
when I decide
the sky has turned inside out 

and I must follow suit

so I pour paint 
out of their tubes 
and spread them gently 
on my leg with my fingertips 

relishing 
their smooth texture across my skin 
as the colors that have stayed apart for 
too long finally overlap 
and fall in love with each other's contrasting hues 

and my usually busy hands fall still
and absent-minded thoughts 
drift in and out of 
my open window.

These are the days when 
the air pulling in and out of lungs 
does not hurt so bad 

where wishes 
on dandelion seeds 
drift
brushing noses with the man 
on the moon 
before settling on the rings of 
Saturn 

and of course they don't come 
true 
because wishes made on an empty stomach 
are often indecipherable and 
misplaced 

so I smear peanut butter 
on stale slices of bread 
that I hid from the monsters that 
live in our pantry.

I need this one to 
count 

so your fingertips 
trace 
1
2
3

on my palm 

as I
promise my missing pieces 
and things I don't have 

to the misplaced flowers 
in my garden.