V

hands that plow
thru dark thick ranges
of her jet black hair
thinking deep
about
irridecent bumblebee nightmares
shopping carts
and tall silver scaffolding

i am always taken by her fingers
thin delicate knots and knuckles
rice paper skin
cold and strong

fingers raking thru mad mop of hair
eyes a thousand and one miles away

oh,
to sleep in her winn dixie dream..
to take her far away into something
i have not imagined yet..