In a parallel universe, August is the only month
and I am the end of the world, watching the last sun
curtsy
In this universe, I dress Love in my skin
and you and I, city-blind
feast
on golden-hour cloudbursts
sousing sunlight into gray seams
as the horizon bleeds technicolor
and I break upon prophesy
remembering—rainbows fade
before the end
In a proto-universe, I am God’s
thought bubble—empty
midnight before light
after Barbie
only after a stiff drink
when the taste of butter
swallows stale
under dark
only after midnight
when the walk home, muted
and each star becomes a wish
for a different life
only under fluorescence
when the din of Netflix
dips to a clock tick—a countdown,
a pulse of descent
only after Call Me Chihiro
wondering why saving herself
is the same as forfeiting
everyone she loves
only after I’ve saved myself
for the 116th time
looking for the rainbow,
exhausted
