This is a day to celebrate being alive. Kick your legs up and grass stain your knees. Roll down a hill into your lover’s arms and eat crab apples from trees made for picking.
Somewhere between the mall and the bus station, there is a patch of green, and this is where I sit. Flower baskets wrapped like birds’ nests around street lamps. People scattered like toadstools amidst planted trees. Phone conversations as common as shrill bird calls. Couples strolling along the pathway, hands held sealed with sunshine. Clear blue endless. You appear on your orange bicycle. Perfect.
Time measured / Distance weathered / Feelings tethered / Passions pleasured
Late night verses feel like early morning kisses. Sun shattered and vibrant. New places retain familiarity with photographs and messages a mere click away. As long as this feeling holds, I’ll imagine you in my arms every restless night.
Don’t take this the wrong way, but I kinda love you. And thanks to you, I’ve started thinking in poetry again.
This is where Virginia Woolf used to live, she said
Really?? I replied
And that’s where she used to write poetry, she said, pointing to the nearby park
I’m in heaven, I sighed