I can paint an impassioned trip down memory lane
as sunflowers growing with wild abandon along the windowsill.
I can pluck each charming bloom,
heavy-headed and bent to the dirt.
I can watch petals flutter down,
dark seeds embedding themselves deep for conscious growth.
I can lay my head down on fertile earth
and let the roots you’ve planted rock my memory to sleep.
I can rise as Venus
on the bathroom wall of some
hourly rate hotel room.
I can play my pulse,
straight from my wrist,
bright and loud.
I can drown in the beat
and slice my tender feet
on the glass in your garden.
I can leave a trail –
breadcrumbs to salivate over
I’d expect you to pull away,
black tires spinning
and vanishing over the horizon.
© Laura A. Lord, 2020
Thank you to MindLoveMisery for their prompt.