days without coffee golden and gripping in the wake of nights late with talking
mist makes morning matter hills flatter, fatter, blurs the background like a photograph where you, only you mattered
days of should and shouting, doubting the grass that should not be blue the sky that should not be red
bed the only safe space floating, folding, holding pillows like life vests pressed lace that patterns your chest
days that saturate, satiate, breed desire, need, time elegant, elastic, experienced the sun, delirious
steam rises where crickets dance, the light fantastic.
EDITOR’S NOTE: This poem was selected from entries submitted to our Creative Challenge Series #39: Last Sentences, which required that the last sentence in the text must be used as given. Read other Creative Challenge winners. To find out how to participate, go to Creative Challenges.