the big empty...

Oh the big empty. Here it is to swallow me.

I want to sit in the sunlight on my porch, eating a mango, with its juice running past my chin, knees drawn to my chest. I want to notice that Stellas aren't like Daffodils and Asiatics and Days are different and stare at the Lantana and count the butterflies it attracts, and smell the dusty sweetness of the Deplidenia. But I hide, a little still, or stay too busy or escape someplace different so that nothing permeates this husk, this pod, I've zipped myself into. Maybe the sun's summer will coax something from me, some juju or magic that must be fulfilled before I can find another breath. In the meantime the day slips away like the sunset through a pink sky. I just stood on the horizon, watching it burn out...