She stood, a bright blue prize
the color of heat in a comet's tail
the glimmering butterfly
one would like to see behind cotton bars,
and pin down behind a glass frame
tucked away in the trunk of memory.
she was my comet
bright, then blending with the night sky
lost amongst the florescent flowers
strewn across the black blanket in which we sleep.
Blue like a stranger just ordered me a drink
I'm staring into a glass of liquid sapphire
asking myself, should I ingest this?
Because that's what she was
a tall slender glass radiating toxicity
not enough to make a man ill,
but as if she was dripping delirium on my tongue.
A bolt of butane.
when I blinked she blended with sky
drowned in a crowd of a thousand strangers.