Poetry Prompt 27 – Whimsical

A blood orange sun parses mischievous clouds

From the quaint to the curious, we rally

In rows of two with plaited fists and quizzical smiles.

Landscapes slide underneath our Mary Janes

Some real, some imagined but each

With a particular nuance and scent.

A waggish smile compliments your skewered brow

And in being young I am inclined to believe.

A swollen apple lopes across an unkempt yard.

Chameleon, liar, mendicant I weave stories

From luxuries both sought and endured.

I traverse stories wrapped in skeins of flesh.

The child in me is no longer whimsical

But once she was and in my memories

I sometimes return to her makeshift dreams,

To her hopes uncluttered by impossibles.

My normality burns, the cocked smile

Churning moonlight into honey.

I face my delirium and she faces me.

I take you in doses, sugar, analgesic.

Wherever you walk the ground opens

And drinks of my sorrow, planting flowers

Where there was only dirt and manure.

There is always you, always love,

Always the impulse to riffle

Through my belongings and pass them on,

Discrete treasures dipped in metaphors and blood.