cw: drug abuse

 

It was Spring: dotted flowers, candyfloss
Horizons. Cherry blossom trees that
Twirled into pastel skies and stood silhouetted
In the pale dawn light. Pink, nubile trees in
Bud, making the ground a rosy desiccated
Shore, flute song. Skeins of thin, translucent
rain. I laid in the grass, danced my hands around
my flushed face, swiped them across my doped
mouth, made shadow puppets on the lit
bark. It was a cucumber fresh day, breezy.
My pills scattered like white, weeping apple blossom
In the dark crevice of my handbag. I twitched
My hands around the space, pressed six
Pills onto my tongue and swallowed with
Perennial bottled water. The geese kept
A-bobbing. The blossom never shuddered.
My heart sang I love you I love you I love you
Like a ruddy puncture, a slow pumping, reggae
Music where mothers go to die.
Tolerance kept me a neutral angel, nourished
By whiteness, lungs a slow approximation
Of spring loving. Later, I dozed by the lake –
Sickly jasmine slumber – while the sweet
Wind stripped the trees and the bubble-gum
Blossom buried me deeper, deeper, deeper.