their azure eyes faded into the yawning sky finding home at last
good intentions like villanelles resurfacing with regularity sometimes switching syntax sometimes selecting uniformity
an open tin of water colour paints arrives on a communal table one day causing fingers to crawl over water-cut QWERTY keys scale the scalding glass of a fresh cup of tea and survive the plight of staple attacks before leaping into crimson’s near-empty pot over-zealous on love, willing to take their shot
when the finish line is so close mind becomes five day old flowers ready to return to the soil from which it came dehydrated petals, a few still vying for life through their might they try others leaning languid in cloudy vase water daring the observer to drink or call it quits- the dirt is calling them home but how will I, after this show-play how and where will I return?
whether by chance or the sun really had used it’s last call to dial her body from it’s after-dinner nap her just-awoken eyes caught the evening sun being strong-armed away by the heavies: sun-buster 1 and 2 dressed head to toe in puffy grey suits “don’t worry love, go back to bed” their frail attempt met with only contempt as her pupils remained fixed, keeping witness as the veil between her and her star grew in thickness “I’ll be out tomorrow, I promise” the sun shot its orangepurples through the fog “til aurora” she replied and then came the night.