Dreams of My Strawberry Heart

My grapefruit brain in my pumpkin head does not dream through the night alone—my strawberry heart beats fantasy of its own where twilight juices of orange and wine in the sky become onyx and ink, become fields of flower blooms bathed in the wan sugar light of the mercurial moon. The dreams of the mind sift and wander through portraits of day through dissolution and repaint. ed dramas of life, fanciful distractions to entertain the curtain closed eyes as they flutter beneath lids like moths in the night—but the strawberry dream of the heart heals the body with honesty, with landscapes of beauty, our rivers and mountains —of home. A