Sweet black molasses sap,

Spilled from the spicket,

tapped into the forbidden tree,

Danced and fell behind red lips,

Touched and fumbled by pale pink tongue,

A raft in the nightly liquid desert,

 

With skies as black as her hair,

The stars became fish, glistening in turbulent waters,

Silver companions swirling around her head,

Brushing her hand playfully paddling to nowhere,

 

The soft echoes of lapping water played in her head,

When she fell asleep, her leg would dip into the ocean,

And she'd dram she was swimming towards islands,

 

Islands of grey fall barren trees,

Steeped like herbs in cold tea, their rooted historic aromas stagnant,

Oh, how she longed for the kiss of their blue crystalline sands,

Stuck to her wet body, sparkling in the light of the ambient dusty glow,

She looked like the stars in her hair,

 

They were always on the horizon,

Surrounding the ocean in all directions,

No matter her efforts, the raft never moved,

She'd lie on her back panting for breath,

drifting her left hand in the waters,

Skin kissed by the silver dancing fish,

Until Morpheus came from the charcoal clouds,

Bestowing a goodnight parting on her brow,

 

The Plutonian horn of Hekate's feather winged aviator forced open her eyes,

And bruised her legs with the dropping of a peculiar brass cylinder,

"Look!" it said, "Look at the trees!"

Squinting through the spyglass, she saw the purple buds on grey trees,

with pink whips laced with leaves reaching down to touch the washed blue sand

The ocean departed to the feeling of raven's feet on her shoulder,

Blue sand somehow found its way to the color of her eyes,

She was here, she was home.