I fell in love under cotton candy stars.
At night I kiss them with my eyes,
hoping to catch some magic in my lashes.
They are the only wings I was given in a world of angels,
the plumed talons I use to catch
lonely souls.
We all have to make due with what we have, not that
we tire of the caramel that sticks to our teeth.
The dust, the flakes of dulcet vivacity,
snow down across the city, the night life.
There are dreamers waiting in the fog, looking for a serendipity
that will make the empty tip jars worth it.
She worked hard as a waitress, you know,
sucked drier than a piece of bubblegum after several hours of avid chewing.
He stayed up many nights,
watching the gas station lights fight about whether or not
they should live through the darkness
or burn themselves out.
What an exhausted summer,
the air nothing but stale memories of a better night.
If these waters could speak,
they'd gloat about the twilights people used to spend
swirling around in the sand and licking the ice cream skies
until they couldn't eat anymore.
Life was once a treat,
a lollipop confection staining your tongue
red, the color of summer love and pure, unadulterated wonderment.
What special dyes we'd paint our lips with,
knowing that we wouldn't find who we wanted that night
but enjoying the crickets' orchestra anyway.
It was nice, simple, a dream custom-made for those
with everything to lose and
everything to gain.
It was a time when it wasn't very hard to find yourself
under a candy moon
learning what it means to find something
worth the impending winter.
