inevitably

past reveries bloom outward
      like a blood droplet
            on a cotton thread
      projections I can no longer fully enter
    nor raise the rosy stain
           from my third eye’s retina
     

it’s too much like the soap operas
      I’d watch every afternoon
       by the old woman upstairs
          her hands glistened with veins
            it was extraordinary

    smoke spun ballerina clean
         through to the next several weeks
     & I cannot tell you for how long after
           she was gone, I took her place
      in the rickety empty nest
                       in the brocade chair
                                             ^upstairs

–LM

   Authors Note: I loved her like the strawberry wrapped/ strawberry flavored candies she shared with me. If only I could remember her name.