by on November 17, 2016 :: 0 comments

blue sound stretches
over the everywhere always—
i listen to endless cerulean

pale moon blooms in
the obsidian soil of sky,
has the scent of lilies

i fall in love with
fossilized nothings
remembered as somethings

into my granite bones i
embed crystal eyes; they
glint from lilymoon breath

i am the sunbeams that
bounce off the clouds
and never reach the ground

i am the body that swallows
cold abstraction in the
hopes of becoming it

– Monica Beaujon

editors note:

First frost; affectation, in time for holiday hyperbole. – mh clay

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