smallenvirosciwrite

I sit at the edge of my dandelion
wish, feeling wings
sprouting in my mind
beyond the places I can see.
I am as untouched as the horizon,
casting my seeds
into my own skin, watching
its colors change as the light
changes, as the seasons
blend into each other, fog
touching the ends
of my fingers, convincing them
they'll never need to feel
anything but the inside
of an autumn leaf, the petals
of an unnamed flower
that is only a flower
in the sense that I'm sure
it's not a tree
or a butterfly

or the palm of my hand.