Hey guys. biggrin I wrote this a while back and figured I might share it with those of you who haven't read it to get some feedback. I hope you enjoy it, and apologize if my presence seems intrusive. <3 much love!
--
Why is there dust in attics?
Well sometimes we travel up
Stairs of liquid vanilla marble
Around curling spires aglow with elven lights,
The city melts away to oil that’s swept up
By eight-legged brooms.
You pass the corridors of fractured golden ponds,
Mirrors of light ringed with baby’s breath and teeth
Charter your course across the sea of toys that bob
Up and down in waves of ashy sunlight.
Creep past the Grandfather Clock without waking him up,
A trickery of a treacherous game, you trouble-maker,
Tick-tock softly, “this is taking forever,
Grandmother, does this have a point?”.
For is it not always that you travel to your
Grandmother’s attic to hide;
Past Nancy Drew trunks with treasures inside
And ripple through ribbons of rainbow-light
Ice cream promises and strawberry raindrops
Chrysalis of crystal in the tears of the moon
That come in through cracked robin’s egg windows
And spill their golden milk over the lotus that smells of honeysuckle--
And you sleep--“just for a bit”--
And that is why there is dust in attics.
--
Why is there dust in attics?
Well sometimes we travel up
Stairs of liquid vanilla marble
Around curling spires aglow with elven lights,
The city melts away to oil that’s swept up
By eight-legged brooms.
You pass the corridors of fractured golden ponds,
Mirrors of light ringed with baby’s breath and teeth
Charter your course across the sea of toys that bob
Up and down in waves of ashy sunlight.
Creep past the Grandfather Clock without waking him up,
A trickery of a treacherous game, you trouble-maker,
Tick-tock softly, “this is taking forever,
Grandmother, does this have a point?”.
For is it not always that you travel to your
Grandmother’s attic to hide;
Past Nancy Drew trunks with treasures inside
And ripple through ribbons of rainbow-light
Ice cream promises and strawberry raindrops
Chrysalis of crystal in the tears of the moon
That come in through cracked robin’s egg windows
And spill their golden milk over the lotus that smells of honeysuckle--
And you sleep--“just for a bit”--
And that is why there is dust in attics.
