when the mist disappeared.
Your lips sucked back in every pixilated breeze,
leaving the world crisp and sharp.
I was left to fall, with no cushion to catch me
no more clouds, nothing left obscure.
The tall grass teased my ankles
and the sun hid shamefully behind the edge of the cliff.
Our freckles mingled once more in the warmth
before floating away in a whisper.
The temperature slid down its yellow-plastic slide
As your fingers slipped from mine.
Rain will come and wash away what is left
of summer's rays and lazy days.
My eyelids will open a little bit more,
to let in what they once hid from my conscious.
but the blur will never return,
no more pink-warm lens between the world and me.
1 comment:
:O
the yellow slide.
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