There are bells under your shirt.
An eye is an apple.
An eye is an apple.
And you have an orange for a waist.
Your legs are straws that draw water
to your shoulders.
Red and white striped straws.
Your laughter, when it comes, are fronds.
You clutter the sky with your green laughter.
I buy a grape
from your ear
and you hear me.
You give away
the grapes, green, from your ear
as I speed in this limitless blue.
I spiral in my yellow balloon
through your height.
The knotted ginger knees
up into the net of fronds,
and the leaf wrists
above you.
Each shoulder a fountain.
The hands . . .
I spiral through your height
untying the air
I pass through
in my yellow balloon
No comments:
Post a Comment