Crayola Skies

Dew hung from my lashes,
Falling onto chapped lips- nature’s bounty,
I closed my blue lids and wrapped my torso,
The pendant of the moon on my palette.

Such skies were embellished in wax- melting,
Stubby charcoal and white noise,
Surely one’s hands got too tired to colour the gaps,
Now we call those empty spaces stars.

Stars – children, sleepy-eyed,
They shut like the soft skin on my lobe,
A crayons creation – foolish,
Orphans belonging to lullabies.

I pierce the holes back into the yawning blue-
Not a puncture, enough to hold a stud,
I choose gold hoops – they blink outside the margin,
Melting when the corner sun comes out;
I tuck it to bed in the doodled clouds.

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