saltpane room.

i dwell where apricots dream and joy hangs like linen on the line. this is my orchard-room: papered in sunflecks and syruped light. no hours pass—only breeze steeped in citrus and recall. i lace the solstice into my hair, barefoot upon floorboards warmed by laughter. “nothing shatters here,” save the stillness stitched between two laughing hearts. ♥ rind of the tangerine; of ours, [february, 23.]