Here are the remaining five metaphor collision examples that I described in my previous post.
I lay on damp, spring grass. Star gazing. Orion’s crooked stars remind me of imperfect gingerbread cookies. I squint and point a long finger upwards. At 8pm Eastern Time every night, we point: you, in Africa. Me, in Topeka. Crickets sing our lullaby. I doze.
When this is over, what will happen to my bumpy heart? Your love sent poison, marking my aorta. A-fib abounds. Thump, bump, lump. I touch my chest. Worried. Angst turns silver in my mouth.
You died. I pulled out my dusty wallet. I paused. My pen hovered over the checkbook, ink dripping down. My mind swirled, clouded with memories. Hot tears blur lines of blue into white. A financial whirlpool.
I ran out of Enterprise after Jesse with bewildered hope. Was he really leaving? I see his firm back, his black wavy hair, his strut. One, two. One, two. I thrust myself forward, as if I wore a jet pack. Our distance, closing in. My lungs break. My tongue presses forward. I leap.
Jealous sleep insists: come to me. I am slumped in my chair, head lolled. A pause. Typing. Teeth insist: come brush me. Bed taunts me softly: come lay in me. My husband snores, blissful. My kitten, head on her paws, lies on the floor. Feather toy under her tail. What do I dream of? The sweet oblivion of jealous sleep.