if only i could burrowin san francisco airport bathrooms, i would bathein rose petal soap; for god sake i shakeat the thought of it;
my hands now calloused;not in the cherry-painted hills of june, but in red ruby gates; it’s all that grounds me—
always daydreaming of charming trolleys,the fading lamp posts flickering delicately like caramel;the sunburned cracker bricks, the humbling steam,the whistling pagodas.
it’s a utopia; a mindset, intangible;like fetching through cold fog,an emerald shimmering over the bay,sparks raining from the heart like sky diamonds.