So I Don't Unravel: Poetry

Circles

I dream of circular driveways

and circles of gold

with fingers to wrap around them.

Pink fleshy little things.

I dream of a fall without the cruelties

of winter

and subtle little hints of children.

I dream of a small lover,

with feet I can't stop kissing,

of time and hands like tissue paper,

rocking back and forth

gazing at the sky.

I know that life will always circle

overhead

like vultures,

and all we are ever born to do

is die.