Color Theory

The sky tells me about the evening. Her teeth are blue. And when she smiles it’s a lake full of my own face — and the face of the moon. We ride the Skyhorse, before settling in its troughs of chalk, to pull blue silk over our faces. To sleep like loons, their hushed tambourine thrumming, as it weaves through our hair.

Shoutout to Kasu (small wounds) for including me in her prompt!