playdate haiku
red lint in my hair
googleplex hours of talking
a bruise on my lip
the fire was spun like caramelized sugar with a smirk (and the hissing) my tongue, wet and hungry reached out to closed spaces (closing spaces) the balloons soaring above the firelight taking a piece of me into the embers below (with a hiss) it darkened and everything went cold the fire remains but doesn’t warm…