I Love You.

I imagine a Juliette Dresser in vintage; whereupon, sits a vase,

a raggedy doll, plus, a stubby nosed piggy bank. I’m so

removed from actuality; but I remember signs, a treasure box,

and would be drably carpet. Well here’s a jewelry armoire,

a mini yacht for trinkets, somewhere a land filled with lotuses.

I needed to write to beauty; if only to change sheets; for a

daybed has become a cabriole, even a squall of temperaments.

So I’m pulling at innocence, flopping upon a bean bag, if

only to change the feng shui, if only to reposition an antique

clock.

Never did we imagine a room of spinning options, where each

door offered a bookshelf of dreams and cabinet opportunities,

plus, a credenza filled with boxes of jotted Scriptures. One day

a game table will slant in our favor, while wild rivers part the

animosity, and grandmothers rise and love from a grave.

I now imagine leopard spotted pillow cases, swan shaped ink

pens, and a lapwing clock. Yes. I drift, my love, wrestling with

adulthood, as faithful as snow monkeys, enduring an icy forest.

But Venetian blinds guard the pain and urgency is concealed.

I Love You.