Fiery yellows, sweet peaches, warm roses and memories. . not yet created.

The sky drips into infinite little pools of fire and afternoon between here and the glossy surface of tomorrow. . .

The grays and purples spill into thin air and disappear just before the stubborn halo of dreams right above the jagged horizon . .
. . . . . . and then. . . . .
intense watermelon pink. . . . .
. . . the night slowly devours the cotton candy sky. .
. . . . leaving a watermelon sugar trace in my throat. .


. . . . not allowing me to season my thoughts to taste.