saturday.
the sky calls.
the clouds congregate.
the morning bites its thumb at me.
i smile inwardly and bite my thumb back.
there is no need for this false show of assertiveness.
the air smells of oxygen and grass.
my lips are dry with longing.
i am a flower...
ducking the hollowness of the past,
feeding on the grandeur of the future,
traveling within the briefness of now,
my ears crammed with stories,
my spirit trimmed with light.
