On Your Merry-go-round

I see that it is me

I am running after.

soft, bowed legs

flat, smacking feet

and a lung inflated by the the pinching mist

of your marigold perfume.

I live in

circles within circles in  a Nowhereland–

but

 as long as the haze of your touch

tingles

in my chest,

I am happy to spin

like a carousel horse

with a pole

through

its

spine.

“Spun” by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse

Artwork: A Delicate Balance by Morgan Kendall