she

i'd imagine she plays with her hair,
plays with her heel,
plays with her hat,
plays with her heart.

restless as restless can get, she is morrocan magic and tropical moonlit nights
she is cuban rum and windswept sand dunes.
carelessly, ceaselessly, carefully,
she infects not so much the human, but the air around,
sending ripples, whole and potent-
never once seen or heard, but felt
her gargantuan charm emmanates from her very intestines
her minty exuberance the catalyst for little fires we house but do not care to ignite

because she, her, no she, is a thing of phosphorescence,
something of a distant constellation.


i am dreaming of sun denched islets, all pristine and coconutty.
watermelon and lime sounds like a good combi now..