My Best Friends & I
***
We confess our love to each other with the same customary frequency as a greeting.
In cafes
Over the phone.
During the Sunday morning farmers market.
I met Olivia and Riley, and the dance began.
You and I have freedom to spend as many days running through vast fields of soft dandelions, while the palms of our bare feet hit lush soil like a rhythm. To stand in storms while our hair tangles in thick misted wind. Even tears are something to catch, to keep like the citrine in our pockets.
My best friends and I are garden fairies, tending to each other like tulips.
My best friends and I are painters, checking to see what each brush stroke left on our satin spines.
My best friends and I are seamstresses, dissolving space between old and new skin.
Fortune tellers, symphonies, and swans.
My best friends and I are a place with perfect humidity and endless morning air.
We confess our love to each other with the same customary frequency a parting.
In parking lots On doorsteps under the giant black skies after the world has disappeared.
The same steps in day old clothes and it’s turned up again.
My best friends and I confess our love to each other.
