you are
perched on a stool,
with one ankle
propped up on your
other knee.
your face is covered in
curls.
maybe you have a pair
of purple shoes on,
laces dangling for the
ground like long fingers
raking across sand.
somebody is stacking
plates in the kitchen.
i sigh, and rearrange
my own legs on the couch.
when you are around, they
become a pair
of wonderful flamingos.
