Only milk, yet notHe is rose tinted glassesOnly milk, yet not by ~daeira
over my squinting eyes
his hands
milk, humming like bees,
humming like petals
maybe on snow, or ice
maybe on summer grass,
resting in the navel of flowers
or in the depths of ocean sand
maybe none of the above and maybe
everything
Maybe he was not rose tinted
or milky pure
but a spaceship
launched into space,
hurtling through ionosphere, stratosphere
into the outer reaches
of everything we ever knew
Maybe this is him
maybe I am the encompassing sphere
but then again
my vision is rose tinted.
Under a bad sunGod lay washed upUnder a bad sun by ~daeira
on black shore, like any old
piece of broken driftwood—
his limbs had been hardened
and burnt by cruel
ocean sunsets,
by savage sunrises.
His face was blank,
stars glinting off his skin
his open eyes
and all men
could mirror themselves
there—
and they saw his pale fingers
on their hands, his teeth
in their mouths
they saw his mouth
his lips drawn, as with crayon
child-like, they saw it
drawn
in a smile.
Artistic 
om at du vil bli med. Alt du trenger å vite står i journalen på kontoen vår.
Sta.sh
