//|\\ christina joyce \\|//

Spring

I made myself a bed of white daisies and baby's breath, and let the sun
kiss
my cheek.

The breeze brushes my brown skin like chilled early spring petals.
I look at the yellow eye above me and watch the clouds transform.
Chewing on sweet green stems, I try to melt into the colorful blossoms
around me.

I smell all this world has to offer in one deep breath.
I think I can soak into the long grasses like mud after an unexpected
spring
shower.
I lick the dew off pink roses and pretend it's strawberry ice cream.
I think back to when I would come here as a child and make tiny castles
with
moats and gardens out of mud and gum sticks.
I'd lie on my back, inhaling the minty aroma, and dream of limos, movie
stars, and beautiful, glamorous people.
But, finally, I just wanted to be my mom.
I pick one small simple flower to take home with me.
It's yellow, like sunshine.
I want to tatoo my body with rainbows and daisies when I return home.
But, then I come back down, and feel like the forget-me-nots, blooming
too
late for spring.

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