tousled black hair and a couple of blue streaks within,
some gold and silver glistening at crack of dawn,
a greyish sweater and pastel leggings well-fitting:
if perfection existed, i wouldn’t be surer that you’re true.
a few tears dashed away by the acid or beneficient rain,
a body drowned in stiff whisky parched but well-preserved
if you are quite ready to acquiesce that the scars are too.
and i,
i’m scribbling worlds away, running over vivid recollections,
rambling haphazardly through thoughts of black and blue,
touching on a bit of nostalgia here and some melancholia there.
strands lost in oblivion, obviating any reminiscence,
someone wandering around, a stray (bullet maybe),
bloviating, blasting, bleeding, slipping back, bogging and
wondering why my fingers burn through my heart’s roistering
while my mind is crying.