She made a moon from mudpies-
driving her fingers like tiny bike
wheels around circles mezmerizing
me with every spin-
She likes me when I tell her things
about someone else in me-
Someone she knows, someone she
keeps-
We float on a happy parade-our
river is filled with buckets of flour
and we pour sugar on ourselves,
that is when we play-
Together it is soulful bliss-a kiss-
a soft mist-a withered rain flower
that breathes in and out, soflty
like a feather in a pillow.
