water spray and mist from a rocky waterfall with green grass in foreground

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.