Instead

Here I am here. ...a small weathered grey stone in the middle of an ecru cube I am, as if woven with willowy white by spider to this chair shedding my last skins molting, melting, swelling, crusting over a dampened facade of makeup… and hidden band aids and instead of drinking Coffee in the cafés of Berlin...where a handsome stranger leans over and kisses my hand stares long into my un-wedded blue eyes I flush and blush 17 again an irresistible bowl of fruited ambrosia but here, at my faux wooden desk… with my green porcelain pear vase …sprouting fragile pale cream roots facing a blank wall my roots …are grey and silver I am more a dried apple in a pantry drawer…listening for foot falls than a place where red flags dance nostrils fill with rich beaned aromas I am here ...instead of drinking coffee in the cafés of Berlin