I laid on my side curled in comfort and groggy but happy to hear the sound of contact. Left hand on left hip bone, left elbow pulled by gravity; carelessly strumming and thinking about my skeleton.

I see my world through blue eyes, blue veins, blue skies. Creating drama where there might be none, I wear black stockings in the winter, none in the summer and relish when I notice the male head that does the double take and lingering look.

I had a conversation about thinking about the world versus what it feels like to be in this world. Perhaps my thoughts are elementary but I strive to feel, not much to understand. The feel of my leg underneath my palm, the curls in my hair wrapped around my pointer finger, the ridge of my nose, the twin beauty marks on my left and right thigh.

I’ve spent time thinking about the meaning behind dry maple leaves and what it means to have a sweet sense of time but questions asked in the dark are never answered in the light.