the taste of flowers

[raggedeanne]

I sit here on my
wine-colored
dumask-striped
down comforter
studying for my last two finals.
The room is warm but
cool air spills
through the open window and
the blades of the fan spin
unceasingly.

The bitterness of
Jasmine tea on my
tongue makes me
oh-so-nostalgic for
Maria Grace and
James and
"Nein, Dixie" and
thatched roofs and
Abbjo and, oddly,
Catherine and Peter and MJ and
reflections on the water and
window-ledge flower boxes
and, of course,
Germany
and everything that goes with it.

I will be there
soon enough.