I lick your skin to quench my thirst. My tongue tingles with your being. It's like taking shelter underneath a dripping tree out of the rain or tumbling down a hillside scattered with daisies,my body in a straight jacket shape, arms wrapped and bound, trusting the fall to be kind. Spin, spin, spinning until I reach the bottom and open my eyes to see the sky turn in wild kaleidoscopic circles. A sky that swivels and finally clicks into place and the ground becomes a velvet burgundy chair, like the ones in the old cinemas, where I started and ended as a movie reel flickered and sputtered, out of reach, out of my grasp.
copyright © Mary Wilkinson, 2009