The leaning blossom tree on the High Street is in bloom again.
As I pass beneath it, I try to inhale it's goodness. I find parts of myself stirring again. Parts and places I thought might have hit the dust.
No, I have been happily proved wrong.
Peony marbles in my pocket, whilst my cardigan smiles and a lady stops me, even though I am wearing headphones. She must have been able to see the look in my eye, or perhaps in the way I let my shoulder blades fall apart and open for a while, as I look up, chin tilted towards the sky and the confetti.
We both nod and nod and marvel at what our eyes are sipping.
My hunger is a juicy hinge. There is oil in this moment, and meat.
I imagine a man coming up behind me whilst I cherry stitch this moment into my memory.
Slides my waist
my back
bone
and bristle, toward
beneath.
Someone said today, it is that time of the year when the breeze (or was it the pollen?) smells like kisses.
I plant imaginary kisses from toes
to trees
Wish there was eloquence enough, in me
to tell you
what this feels.
Clumsy against the rice paper petals,
I'm just a happy clown
fingering the borders of my dress
baking a dream
(rise)
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