Mint - Dustin Vado

My hands brush through leafy greens
in a field of sunshine and rainbows
walking the path to nowhere.

The plants read my palms
gently feeling my lines
and predicting my future.

Their growth knows mine
with their never ending birthdays
and funerals.

They reincarnate themselves and reach
for examples of light and sisterhood
wading in chlorophyll bathhouses
earning the admission
one cheap reading at a time.

Their fee is worth every dime.

The plants say I will find love
riding a carousel alone,
and be rich in gold and memories
within 20 years,
if I live that long.

My photosynthetic fortune
read by silent foliage
standing in brilliance
smells like mint.

I break a branch, and muddle it in bourbon.