Salad Bowl A salad bowl turned down. I climb the mountain of Tupperware. It challenges me. I'm on it. I cannot stop. I stand higher than I've ever been. The free flowing breeze fills my lungs. I breathe. It tickles. Is this love? The view is better from the top. The beauty overwhelms my senses. I gloat. It invigorates. Is this love? I climb without knowing why. It's a direction without direction. I flex. It burns good. Is this love? I desire the unknown on the other side. Guilt follows on the heels of desire. I reflect. It confuses. Is this love? Standing where nothing is in the way. Except my gold ring. I sigh. It aches. Is this love? I slip and fall. Sliding down the side. Grabbing for something to catch me. But I'm not caught. There is nothing to catch me. A salad bowl turned up. I fall into a bowl of mixed emotions. It catches me. I'm in it. I can't get out. I sulk in the lowest of the bowl. Standing in salad muck. I sigh. It hurts. Is this love? I climb amoung the leafy green. Floating at a high. I rejoice. It flutters. Is this love? I can't see over the rim. Rooted where I am. I'm stuck. Melanchally. Is this love? I munch my salad greens. Filling up on what's around. I absorb. It warms. Is this love? I can't see the bowl among the vegis. Missing in my own garden. I'm lost. It confuses. Is this love? I slip and fall. Skidding on salad oil. I'm caught. It saves. Is this love? Sometimes this bowl feels like prison. Sometimes this bowl feels like home. Sometimes this bowl feels like confinement. Sometimes this bowl feels like freedom. A salad bowl turned down. Lust. A salad bowl turned up. Love.