You
are June.
Crimson-stained hills
and a stretch of sun-burnt walks.
(We are prying for loose change in the cracks)
The world is a quilt and we are its center piece
a square of velvet, we are blue and soft eyes
You and I
we are masters together
natives of the dreamland
heroes in second-hand accessories.
Ours is an Empire-
built on lucky coins and sidewalk chalk,
we dust our palms and gold escapes our fingertips.
Wind chimes keep time and we
flaunt backyard sunsets and mom’s
rose
lipstick, lost,
we are staring up at meteor-showered skies
Transfixed, as if
they are a bathtub-full of June poppies
we've spilled across California.
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