The sun kisses my thighs and
the wind braids my hair.
Our eyes and our lips glisten from
the kiss of hope that still lingers.
A young boy giggles to himself as he leans upon a grave.
And then I am
harshly thrown back into the reality.
Where the grass is no longer green
but it decays from the secrets that it keeps.
And where we stare forward blankly
because our minds no longer work correctly
the sun can't kiss and the wind can't braid.