I’m a pomegranate floating in a gelatine of silver stars. My shell glows like moonlit skin. I’m made of ruby pearls that Mars wore at a ball for one. My lips pouch childishly while my legs wrap around curves of gravity closing the gaps.
I’m dancing. The rubies drop into a “make a wish” anthem and mix with the smooth notes of a garden symphony. Flowers kiss bees cheeks of which I wish I knew the colour. Red, pale, blue, jazzy and honey.
The vocals spill in paint. I smear it on top of the roses and out come letters. I swing from the unspoken words and land back on earth in a sea of jasmine.
In space I can measure the distance between you and my thoughts. Your home is on a meteor, inside a raindrop or in a well-known square where people gather to fight inertia.
How far to nowhere? I’m travelling inside a dark box with nothing but the light of lighthouses. I’m already there.
Not trying to see is the equivalent of standing still. The gush of air, the humming of the critters, soil vibrating, heart pacing in my chest. I become one with the citric sunset rays swimming in dark green leaves.
All of this is me, but it might as well be you. Or everyone when night settles in.