Primavera

Personification of spring.



I may never eat again.
I'm thinking of living on tea and sunshine and strawberry lip gloss
and ignoring my hair until it twists in snakes around
my bare shoulders. I'm thinking of wearing a blue silk dress that
weighs as much as a cloud, and slippers of spun sugar...
I'm thinking of grey kittens, and spending weeks in mud, and
charting the movement of the stars across my ceiling in glowing lollipop
swirls; I'm thinking of the smell of cut grass and borrowed boys' clothes
and coffee brewing; I'm thinking of dandelion crowns.

I may never sleep again.
I'm thinking I should live on a hillside between a patch of snow
and a puddle of clover; I'm thinking of the taste of moonlight and sweat.
I'm thinking of tongues, and washing my blue silk dress in fog, and bathing
in milk like Cleopatra, and closing my eyes to see the sunset better.
I'm thinking of open windows in the night, and rooms covered with tinfoil,
and dancing in my spun-sugar slippers until the melt sticky between
my toes, and my hair feels like tinsel.

Happiness is a chemical imbalance
and truth a twice-removed black sheep cousin of reality.
And yet I'm thinking of packing up and following the butterflies
on their migrations; of swimming upriver in a blue silk dress;
of discovering the source of the Nile; of painting stocking seams
up the back of my legs and alphabets across my spine.
I'm thinking of silversmithing, and swordfighting, and saints' bones.

I'm thinking of you.