My Strawberry Fool,
lost in the sea of starfish summers.
Shoulders up, prepared to ward off bad news: the cold sick of other’s
The only unconquerable beast
your own voice,
unwelcome echoes behind each fruit seed. Continue reading
I shift, and the blanket sends feathers flying out into the real world, a place I’ve forgotten, for we are in a bubble, on an island, in the sea, on a spaceship, flying thousands of miles in the opposite direction of all things mobile in the universe. I’m surprised by the lack of calamity, in that you are Topsy and I am Turvy, and together we are an absence of black and white.
A feather flutters away, desperate to grow up, but too excited to be disillusioned of its adolescence just yet. Nevertheless, I give it its space, the choice to go off into the cruel world if it should so choose. It does not know the love that you and I caress it with. Its cradle lies in the gap between our belly buttons, for our legs are intertwined and our foreheads touch, but we are a circle, and our stomachs ache light years away from each other. Continue reading