Yellow Haze

Butterfly stamps bleed down her wrists

as she washes away from the afternoon mud,

but last night lingers with voicemails

from dance partners on her phone.

She finds friends in the dandelions

and plucks them to place around her kitchen table.

Doesn’t want to drink her tea alone

and their yellow spikes help stimulate

her appetite to live.

She digests each petal for a history

for her fingertips to ink out a story.

Yellow marks her daydreams

until they sprout wings into tiny butterflies.

They rest upon her wrists

like the neon lights flickering

from the club’s doorway.

She watches everyone dancer flicker and flit

across the floor and the yellow lights

capture their faces for her to memorize

their stories.


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