i wonder what it must be like 

to be the philodendron growing in my room 

does sunlight taste 

like orange juice maybe or warm metal or the cake baking in the oven downstairs 

can it feel the sun in its veins

just as i can sometimes feel my blood jostle through my hands and fizzle in my fingers when i’m scared 

can it hear me 

when i lay on my bed and scream someone else’s words 

until my throat is sore 

the bass another heartbeat

thumping through my eardrums 

can it see the stars through my window, shivering with cold?

does it feel the moons light 

and does it taste like ice and salt or maybe the peppermint tea i drink when i can’t sleep? 

i like to think

— those nights when the air is thick and burrows into my lungs — 

i like to imagine i am breathing the same oxygen the plant has just sent out

because then i think i can taste 

citrus

on the air

and the next morning i turn my face towards the sun 

and i swear i can feel its light 

in my veins