Keeping for messing with later. LJ is now my briefcase.

[jahs]

I’d like to think of your lashes like
Whirring fan blades
Above our heads - around the blue of
Storms.

Computer screen reflections like
Dying glow of slow-winking
Fireflies.

Soft laughter on the pier.

Perfectly, precariously perched and poised
for pelting perpetrators planning to pluck
my pose into plummet
from the springy cherry tree.

Nothing like white pine that
Sticky sweet sap smell.
Tangling tree tar in knotty hair.
Freeing of my soul. Freeing like a
Dandelion seed.

“Why are you so happy?” he asks
Fogged in his daze