If she sits on a green chair,
black camel on red background
pillow stitched with sun & moon
like an exotic landscape
tucked under her laptop, under her fingers dancing the letter jig,
while she writes before leaving,
while the dog watches her every move,
and she sees through the angst of it all,
even if she always comes back
to bury her face in his underbelly,
to take in the scent that lingers on
between the creases of his padded toes,
while she glances back at the dog always,
while fluttering love paper-wings grow inside
her chest, nothing more, nothing less,
while the cat jumps by her hip, jumps by her shoulder,
rubs against her neck, got her back, gets her head stuck
between metallic slats like a feline criminal,
while she plays songs nude, weird fishes, reckoner1Â & all,
just if she sits on a green chair
before leaving what lingers under the skin thin
when words bruise into blue beats,
when her head pulses with tempo,
when her feet curl like her hair,
is she in the middle of the picture,
a buffer figure in the azure blur,
or is she clearly in a resplendent trance?
1 songs from Radiohead’s 2008 album In Rainbows
