photo by Cole Keister

Monsoon is sweeping me off my feet
and you bring me spring somehow as you look at me and then look away..
my heart feels like a wisp..
like a feather free from its bird yet freer and
more of an innocent dreamer ..
monsoon crashes on my green,
bathes me in blues that stain
and as you walk in, you bring me bright ochre in madly shaped cookies you make..
your warm wheatish fingers hold out
doors, donuts, dreams..
monsoon roars outside…
Shall I take a bite?