Leaves, Laughs, & Lemonade (new poem/monologue)

leaves swarm in my direction,

as If I am honey they seek.

can’t figure whether to run or be honey.

they’re lifeless creatures with an unnerving familiar freedom

the breeze is ghostly and pleasurable.

something about the way it clashes with my cheek bones fills me with immovable inertia.

when the wind takes over there’s no compromise available.

the sound must come from Gabriel’s trumpet.

only an Angel can make a whistle of a tune like that.

I’m not sure if anyone else heard it, but I did.

 

*sips lemonade*

 

there’s nothing delusional about leaves blowing in wind?

nothing weird about dancing in impatience, right?

dining outside Panera Bread pretending love is going to accidentally blow back in your face is a normal practice, I’m sure?

For it is here that I indulge in missing you.

wait for you to be the leaves,

wait to be your honey,

wait for you to lust for my sweet,

the gaze of God’s eye pouncing from the yellow twirling umbrella plastered with Panera’s logo.

Grabriel’s 8 notes simultaneously whipping through my blouse.

Baby, remember lunch?

here?

we bellowed laughs so open till stomach muscles begged for the support of our palms.

we talked till our mouths ran dry.

we sipped lemonade until we slurped up all of our manners.

under the yellow,

under the twirling,

under the Panera Bread logo,

We,

We,

Found love.

Not the commitment kind.

Not the take me home to meet your mother kind,

but the untainted moment of forgettable surroundings,

the isolated height of an unexplainable laugh attack.

Life is all about loving like lunches like these.

like people like us.

like unnerving freedom.

Too dizzy to consider what happens next.

The future is as vital as dinner time,

as exhausting as the morning after.

There’s no love at laughs end.

I know we were not made by like-minded creators?

I am aware that we should’ve never touched past palms?

I feel your vices

I cremate in your expectations

you grain in my needs

There’s no peace away from this umbrella of yellow.

I just like to fuck with myself from time to time.

more like every Spring!

here.

under the twirling logo.

with my bread bowl, my lemonade, my leaves and my laughs.

 

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