The rays of the moon in my dance,
Lethal spillage of color.
I’m short on butterflies.
The hypocrites are barely saved.
When I lose my voice
Splendor will smell me.
Saturday-
Closed water storage area.
The rays of the moon in my dance,
Lethal spillage of color.
I’m short on butterflies.
The hypocrites are barely saved.
When I lose my voice
Splendor will smell me.
Saturday-
Closed water storage area.
The yellow letter
Number 9
I can’t fathom the more dangerous work.
In my dressing pocket,
It’s a yellow nine.
I get my pancakes with extra syrup
When my husband makes breakfast.
I understand the shape of my body.
It is large and unrestricted.
And to come upon desire
With a desire for hidden light
Is to make lemonade in sum.
Daffodil,
Cream,
Egg yolk,
1980s hotpants
All 9 of my colors are yellow.
Taking emotional plans,
Airplanes,
And you’ve gone over the edge with my name.
One book is very simple,
Don’t take 90 years to decide.