you are the open window in an elsewhere, rustic, countryside summer
where drowsy bumblebees rest contentedly by the pollen-speckled glass
and little emerald drops of shy foliage sometimes dare to cautiously peek in
before the shooing breeze languidly billows them all out to heaven knows where
luminous sunshine glows ardent on tan skins and pales against cotton curtains
a curious puppy might loll its head lazily about and bark at scampering squirrels
and the sticky rose vanilla soda gives way to the thawing rivulets down my blouse
perhaps i’ll rise from my wicker chair and have a nap soon—or perhaps just five more minutes.
haze of rosy dusk
a quick afternoon nap
dreams about cake
a yawning drowsy cat
deeper lilac sprawling
to flood the sky with stars
sketch in colour pencil
now to finish and restart.
After breakfast. Lukewarm coffee. Leftover splatters of gouache on the messy desk. Slow internet connection. Haunting melodies resonating from twisted headphones. A yawning kitten resting on a restless lap.
Pauses. Outside, a chirpy radio jingle. Wooden sticks hitting against billiard balls. Idle street chatter of unfamiliar passersby, falling against the grind of tyres on concrete. Drenched in drizzling showers, a hazy town on Sunday morn.
Breathing in. It’s okay, the afternoon promises you. It’s okay.