she likes to think about the afters//
those blurry whispers of promises trickling into naked ears//
she likes to think about purpling sunsets and moons bruised like ripe fruit//
she likes to think about coffee creamer skies and the days they carry//
pleasantries dressed in loose skin//
(it's because she's living in a greyscale daydream with no safety net)
she sees teeth glinting under her nightstand//
and//
the cherry red color of venom//
and senses the fog-smothered scent of a hard rain//
maybe even lightning//
(her mother always warned her bad things happen in thunderstorms)
but she'd like to hold on to her senses//
for just a while longer
