Rooting Chelynne

With an eight dollar orchid, a melamine bed the room glowing modern and Japanese red she sleeps. Valleys of sunsets in lieu at her feet and a window of rice paper mute She is the reason for structure and line while beyond explanation there is no refute. With a feast of a find in a pool in her mind she is balancing purpose on pins Blowing confetti of all that was lost out her window, before she begins With a handle on steel, quite contemptuously real she taps out the room in a blink as the eight dollar orchid redeems in a bloom the remnants of sanctum she still has to think And it's all at the end of the day And it's all been a story worth telling And she's always got something to say And she'll be here tomorrow (God willing)... With an eight dollar orchid, a moment alone in a room to collapse in and finally call home, she sleeps.