You were maroon and indigo
A kaleidoscope of a person
Your body floated like clouds
And you looked at me like something with wings and feathers
You looked like starlight encircling planets
Like you left moonbeams instead of footprints
I loved you like a cloud, like something just passing through.
But if clouds are just vapor
(Just water and sugar – so much like tears)
Can I be aloft in you? Can I float up from a lonely cup of water on some poor saps nightstand?
Or rain from a puddle?
Or dew off morning dandelions?
Whatever shape I take I still spell out your name.
Abigail Ray is a writer from Portland, Oregon and has been published in Same Faces Collective, Maudlin House, and Call Me Brackets. She recently graduated with her Bachelor’s in English and writing and is looking forward to a lucrative career path of Gay Barista™ She loves writing poetry and experimental fiction about loser-core women that are definitely not poorly disguised projections of herself, no matter what people are saying.