i see van gogh landscapes when i close my eyes.
picturesque wheat fields—
my straw lips,
i grasp at this feeling of fulfillment,
this rush of blood — this blue-sky nostalgia i will miss forever.
sweet grape stains the corners of my mouth,
i'm floating in a bed of sunflowers — a buzz on my tongue, a hum beneath my fingertips.
salt beads in my eyes — it's a sting i'm familiar with, this France country sunshine.
