kirsten samanich
I’d like to think of some soft-bellied spring
Where you’re so filled with novel scents and cliché afternoon admirations
that you never need to speak.
Where you are spinning images in synchronization with your
coffee spoon and watching them circle beneath you.
Where you fixate only upon the reappearance of the sun
and its
curious presentation-
So luminous and overpowering that it can only be...
