wren

10/9/21

Sitting in a field made of stars

I watch you as my pupils burn a hazy dark

Smear my hands with shades of blue, your

Lovely opioid opalescence

Your crystal laugh slips through sapphire stained fingertips

I craft a crown of stone and beg to rest it on your brow, but you

Hand me a scripted saccharine smile and twirl just out of reach