In the Event of Change

I am saying primroses lined the pathway of toothless hedges. I am saying the ocean shimmered like corrugated steel in the morning sun. The context of my story changes when you enter. Then I am dung on the wall of the nomad’s field. Then the everyday waking person. I am nodding in your direction like fissures between dandelion fur. Seeing in your manner. I am speaking your pace. Slippage of silk slippers. I say you are losing sight. I say your breasts are dry shells. I am afraid of what I am capable of doing. This is all a manner of stating how I prepare myself to be loved.