Postcard
you are the swing and
pop in buttercup; thick as
butter sunbeam sliding through
the ceiling (bent like a gutter).
sleep-smiles, don't give me
away; screw the lid on my
laughter and shelf it for
a rainy day. skyward curving
butterfly kisses warm my
skin—colored like swirls of
bubblegum letters in between
graphing lines. leaning against
a summer window pane, your
curls copper and skipping
stones and eyelashes and
heartbeats over sunrise. i'm
tiptoeing through a ballet
entrenched in quiet. come
away back stage and watch me
pluck petals off buttercups;
let each answer fall to the
floor and smash to smithereens
under high heels.