Lavender:
fragrant,
fateful,
when you walk through the door.
Lavender that blossoms from the thin, small space between your skin and your sinuses,
that chuckles as it
floats across the room and
curls itself around my ankles,
my thighs,
my collarbones,
planting itself,
finally,
in my body's identical delicate space:
flashes of lilac,
of amethyst,
of orchid, of maroon.
My vision is filtered,
starry and
celestial.
I want
more,
I want mauve,
I want periwinkle,
pomegranate,
magenta.
And I want you,
my constant reminder to
color outside the lines.