Crop Circles
My bed is Kansas
Endless, barren windswept plains
Of empty sheets
Stretching to a distant horizon
It could be the flats of Nebraska
On a starless night
Lonely
Bleak
So far, I can’t reach
And I’m storm chasing
Longing for a wild tumbleweed
to get swept up alongside my fence
Messing up my pristine cotton fields
with a bit of dirty rough stubble
Brushed against my rosy cheeks
I want to grab a hold, of something unruly under my pillows
While making satin crop circles
At 3 am
© Cornelia Mattioli aka Flying Angel 2015
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