Crowds sway on canary yellow dance floors of moonlight Grins
cost nothing They create their own currency of sugar skulls and
velvet curtains Angels buttered onto lawn chairs Tinkering with
martini glasses laced between ghostly pale fingertips Whisper
between sips Just keep dancing No one was sued for a tango
Families of cheshire's grin glow live in houses made of star nectar
They live their sun honey lives without any sticky lips or fingertips
Black is not apart of their vocabulary I live in a nook of soot Webs
of salty tears Trace poems through cheekbones caked in dark
matter Always dizzy from spinning holes threatening lives better
lived One finger clings onto the rim I like to watch it slip
Barrenness is where my angels lie In beds wrapped in butterfly
wings I itch to fall into fatal Cuddle with the smell of baking apple
pie that thrives in the desolate Death does not in fact equate
sorrow I yearn for Departure from the viewing of others sun honey
lives Ecstatic discovery of what it means to rest in joy An
orchestra of fireflies kissing my heart strings Timeless existence of
rosemary sealed door frames Hands wiping away tears for
something other than lonely Everyone's invited There's only one
finger still slipping
Words by Mira.
