Whistle

Particles. Bits. Elements.

The smallest of units swirling in a cup. Its casualty a sin. Growing big looking for a portal as the clouds close in.

Her big wish comes in three wee ones. Should she tell the great big dark faun looming in? She whimpers. Ruffling her skirt of sweet paper rain and summer heat over his. And

he nudged her a spicy red over green. Candy spells.

Small. Bits. Him. Her. Churns. And the ocean roars and flaps its wings in madness.

Him. Her. The ocean. Now tangled up in the tongue pausing as a song on its tips. Ready to fly.

In a sweet balloon, ninety-nine counts.

Him. Her. The ocean turning blue. So she digs in her wishes and gives a pungence, over a capricious of how deep.

©2009 v.j.m.a.