If I looked up too quickly, I knew it would be over.
And so I closed my eyes, squeezed them till I saw stars — or maybe I really did.
Toes pointed inward, my feet moved in sloppy ovals,
Faster and faster to the music in my head.
On lavender’s pigment and nimbus’ laugh, I twirled, moving my arms up and down to see if I might fly.
Pink tulle tickled my thighs and bright blue boots slicked with rain carried me
upward and honest.
I liked honest; she smelled good.
Smiling until my cheeks throbbed for mercy, I spun.
I spun. I spun. I spin.
Try as you might, you could not stop me from spinning; for even the earth decided at that moment to go stagnant and still and stuffy,
I would remain in motion. My delicious ankles
like centrifuges, turning this body, lithe and nimble,
into sun’s gleam, into cat’s purr, into tree’s whisper.
And my boots so, so blue . . . can you see them? They almost tasted melancholy.
but not quite.
Because blue is just blue even if love does not requite.
Press on and laugh.
There was never a foe to defeat laughter. She is cynosure;
an intoxicating fragrance given freely, without barter.
I make her mine. All mine.
Her and those boots, they belong to me. And if you could be brave,
your boots will know.