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.
[…] I’m trying to view the loss of an old reality as a full-circle sinking into a new beginning. (for love believes that endings are mere / beginnings that are fortunate to have roots / to twine ro… This week is about beginnings, dear friend– HEADCANON MAGAZINE launches on 31 May, & […]
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