so this is upside down;
the veins stitched to the underside of your skin
bursting into bruises
one by one,
spine arching as you lean backwards out the window,
your hair tangling in the wind and the metal
windowsill cutting into your neck.
stretch your legs out on the red velvet seat of the train,
ignoring the stares for the stars
as we fast-forward through the world.
knitting your fingers together with indigo yarn,
go the needles, tangling you up
in a net,
barely holding you down to the earth
as your heart strains against your chest towards the
where the birds are spreading like salt and pepper
on a cinnamon backdrop.
just a thousand miles to the emerald city, you whisper.