Three red lines up my arm; like surrender pleasures; to fostered instincts. The fence. A wall. As resident draftsmen fought for the right to use the geometric rulers, I ran the tip of my tea-burnt tongue over my salty fingers and a distant unfortunate speck of gunpowder or fence-venom stung. Pthu.
Above me, I see my friends. Leering. For even when I was being buried, I chose to play the funny one; an occasional jerk of hand would send a baker’s dozen down into doubting their sanities. Foot after foot, the petrichor filled in. I downed it like I were flying in the rain. Vs in the sky that hunters could never reach. We were Vs. Breaking breezes like primetime television. Quack. And as the sun closed up, a silhouette draws itself. I am dark; the sun a Florida orange. I draw a deep breath as I choose fall.
Days. I longed for him. As I opened my eyes, I saw him in the sand. In waiting, I grew. Smiles were unheard. Tears unseen and fallen to the ground. Rain. Rain.
But one day. The comfort of a spade hit my left foot. I woke up in grins. My rain had fallen. My sun. In clumps, the spring of twenty feet above me seeped in, as in blisters, this leper, did.
Caught in the arms of my man, I finally indulged my eyes to find a scene. He smiled back and offered his hand and heart.
He. Was like a tuft of coriander down my throat.
I was found.