less than 1 minute read

Purple clouds transform and jitter
over the emerald sky. My limbs
are sprawled over silicone grass
as I observe butterflies flit in
and out of existence. Everything

is as it should be. Idly, I conduct
the morning, my arm leaving blurs
behind like a paintbrush. Memories
of another world, similar to this
one but seen through a petrol spill,
congeal at the edges of my vision.

I shake my head free. Leave me here, in this field suffused with scents of burnt cinnamon, with the chimes of those distant crystalline waves.

A soft rain falls, melting trees.

Prompt for today was Purple Clouds from LemondaisyPoetry on Instagram

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