The Now Continuum

The sky bathes the harbor in cyan turquoise cadet-blue sea foam bubbles the only gorget one has versus the flamingos and canaries absconding littoral mire the gashes on my feet, the burn in my gracilis have returned me yet again to sanctum: la vie en rose, where lips breathe lunarias into drift bottles love songs the only tune in our ears, lilac mica on denim morpho is the heart in my chest, and the color of your hair when the sun decides its inevitable rest everything must come to an end, but the feeling I get when you scrunch your nose and shake wisteria dust off raven plumes eclipsing spinel opals and if describing them is the one thing I can do, then the paint in my mouth may go stale fingertips now pruney, lazy, tired vision indispensable falling pallid the paper of my visage a wrinkly, sallow pity but the young wish of a besotted soul to grow old with your puling orbs granted ink sinks the coral lens your darling hands have fixed over my head but my legs are torn, and my teeth broken aching for another laugh rumbling through your vibrating back that my cheek is pressed into, and I drown willing smile wistful hush still.