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The air, this morning, is
a perfectly
ripe honeydew melon. I am eating
without eating,
delicious fruit. The place where
my face fits in
the hollow of your neck
is a gingersnap. It
wakes me up and then
satiates me. There are nine
butterflies
on this bush, and they
rise up in a shimmery cloud
everytime I walk by
and then settle
wings open
drinking nectar and
inviting the sun. Everything
feasts on everything. This is how
it is today and how
I remember it being
and how it was
until it wasn't or
until it is again. I don't know
for sure. You
let me know. Let me know please
the story
behind it all.
Until then
honeydew, gingersnap, nectar, feast.