
My memory lines up each time I’ve been in this green and blue.
Trees with sky so good together
such devastating love
the way they hold hands so easy
unafraid of who sees.
Each run with this yellow sun
sweet simple like a crayon
rushes my skin
a salty little glow.
Like tarot cards fanned and suspended above my eyes
I pierce the center of each moment:
The World - The Hanged Man - The Priestess - The Lovers -
(I’ve been timeless. I am timeless?)
I’m still soft somewhere pink.
I recall that gentle absence of ache
quiet, sweet,
strawberry cake.



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