Periwinkle-crazy and ready to starparty.
You bring the rum
-bled clouds, and I’ll shout out loud for
on the rocks. For clocks
to stop, and indigo to rule the day.
Let’s paint ourselves in hues of blue
and strange, in colors so de
-ranged they won’t believe we once
were girls. Lost. Tossed. Caged.
Hold my quill. I will find us a brush
(with death, with life, the kind of rush)
that comes from bristled fear. That steers
the moon across her scrim with pull
of salt. A wave