Pyschedelic trippin

someday, I said,

I want to meet you again.

I want to find you in the middle of a crowded empty coffee shop sidewalk,

and write on your hands;

we'll sit at a little table with french iron lacework with our little cups of sophistication and knowledge,

discuss sports(yawn) music (perhaps even make some), the meaning of life even.

and you'll give me lollipops-(lots of lollipops?- yes)

My tongue will change colours- fifty different colours! I'll speak rainbows for days,

instead of goodbye,

and you'll part from me with memories of blue trailing from your violet thoughts while red and yellow trade places with green between your palms as you squeeze orange through your fingers. And our lips gasp swivels of pink on cheeks, necks and foreheads.

(our thoughts are peculiar ribbons of indigo)