Blueberry Wishes

Thoughts | Emily Taylor

He comes to me with a million kisses

Bitter to the eyes but tasting like cinnamon

He overwhelms my senses when he gets inside them


Does he know that he’s always inside them?

I’m an automaton for his attention

A vessel of vibrations that stimulate expectations

The daisies don’t tell me what he wants from me lately

I snap them out the soil

they haunt me


I guess that’s the curse of being a contraption

A remedy of sympathies I grow in my garden

A mirage of lovers who know my foundation

A myriad of friends who take up those spaces

But when he comes to me with his last handful of kisses

Blueberries bursting from a bouquet of bushes

As he hands to me his final kisses the berry is always too sour

The Howl Mag