i woke up to the sun on my face

casting shadows on the wrong side of the bed. 
i trace rainbows down the spine of my guitar,
& strings plucked whisper symphonies 
in the shape of gentle, giggling hope. ma 
is cooking penne pasta in red sauce & home
hasn’t tasted so good in a while; it’s been
too long since i’ve woken to a day ripe
with glitter splotches on walls, & stars 
down my arms. i pluck meteors from the curve 
of my elbow, & paint the house in red, for 
far too often my mind needs to rewind & be
reminded that love waits at the edge 
of my palm; all it wants is sunflowers dipped 
in the first snow of December; for love
believes that endings are mere
beginnings that are fortunate to have roots
to twine round their legs, like a cat dozing
on the nape of my neck: i spy 
a dragon breathing fire.