Introspective Collective
a collection of letters





by Regan Smith

I travel to Cloudland,
where the warmth of my partner’s hand
never leaves mine, where the sound of
tousled leaves fills the air, accompanied by
the scent of jasmine and rosemary;
where rosebud tea lingers on my lips,
and a honeycomb hexagon melts beneath
my tongue.

Cloudland, made by Elohim Himself,
accompanies me through the evening’s
golden hour, to sit and hold my children
these apple blossoms that I have not yet seen.

We, three, sing them lullabies,
soothing them to sleep like lavender,
grazing their creamy brown skin,
smooth white skin,
caramel face.

And how they’ll sleep through the night,
while my partner and I exchange
soul-smitten smiles, pulling
mutual love from our hearts and
webbing into the other’s.