On a carpet of flower petals
I lie eyeing the sun. Tap
those receptors there,
prod me to yearn for forever
or another vast place where I sense
my being is once removed.

My sunlit face not a fleeting echo.

Her smile across the handlebars
with my heart there in the basket.

I watch her pedal away. Somewhere
there are sambas playing.

© Chagall 2016

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