Sailing on Cold Butter

This isn't just a chair.
It is a sleeping, wooden mountain
covered in the dust of old adventures.

When you sit down,
your legs become bendy clock springs.
The air around you smells
like a brand-new secret
and peeled-back orange stickers.

Underneath the cushion,
the chair keeps a diary.
It writes with a pen made of quiet sighs
and ink that tastes like forgotten chocolate.

Look closer: The armrest
is a long, furry boat
sailing on a floor made
of shimmering, cold butter.

If you lean your head back,
you can hear the springs inside
gossiping about the time
they saw a tiny, green elephant
trying to mail itself to a star.

Sit still for exactly seven seconds,
and you will feel the chair
trying to whisper its greatest wish:
to grow two enormous, silver wings
and fly you straight into
the loud, bumpy middle of next week.