Anjalequa Birkett’s “22:17 p.m. // 23:22 p.m.”

by Anjalequa Leynneyah Verona Birkett

[i’m] in the middle of the street in my city 
a quarter til drunk with blurred eyes on the starless
sky; and i swear i could see the sun start to rise in paris,
creeping in on the tip of the eiffel tower and as my back falls onto sinking asphalt;
i dream of living with a lover in constant beloved. 

i dream of billowing curtains and cold noses on
cocoa butter shoulders, earl grey tea with rosemary and honey
milked from a hive on a lone branch of the 
apple tree we planted last spring.

i dream of silent walks to the distant town with an umbrella
over your meticulously done up hair,
rain; drops on my porcelain coat
maybe ruined later by late night ground coffee and pen strokes missing my notebook.

i dream of bare breasted dinners; room temperature champagne,
roasted tomatoes and potatoes; honeycrisp apples for dessert —
untouchable flavours and unmatched conversations;
illegible notes on our forearms, age getting the best of our beautiful intelligence, lyrical memory.

i dream of naps on moss covered trees after finishing the
chapter to a good book; barefoot in the woods accompanied by
wild flowers and strawberries.

I dream of prayer sessions that ease the pain in my back
and knees and relieve the pressure on my thighs and
oil the creak in the joints of my stiff knuckles and fix the scratched lens on my bifocals.

i dream of silk countertops and marble bed sheets
where tart tongues meet sweet sangria.

i dream the fight of a heavy sleeper and a literary insomniac 
who craves jasmine mans and weary ambrosia at 2 a.m.

i dream of drowsy talks about getting married in autumn where the leaves start to crunch under us.

i dream of slumber at your bellybutton with our bodies in constant melody. 

Writing Prompt: We all have a happily ever after, a perfect life, an ideal day. Whether we are living it or not, describe your perfect day beginning to end. 

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