I open the bathroom counter
For some cure to my insomnia to find
-- You won’t believe me --
the writhing, tender shoots of unadulterated aroma
lavender and I think –
the spiciness of orange slices
stretching out from the caresses of
a blue glass bottle
their floral fingers of vine gently
gracing the line
between reality and
fantasy
there is no resisting as the
curling infantile wood wraps around
my bare shoulders, lifting me
up, up, up as I fly
into violet dreams
of midnight.
No comments:
Post a Comment