Caught my collapse on the specks of a paintbrush,
Lemon-lime splatterings, paddlings over the retention pond
In my lungs, an endless wake leading to another in a Christmas-lit bar.
Never was the creative type, but I made moles out of mountain work,
A red sea respite and moonshine lullaby out of the shifting tide.
Star-Stripped Stalker
You sway outside my room, lungs ready to give life to endless promises,
A lullaby about lemon-color lambs and red thorns upon your love-lit lips.
Your breath specks the curtainless window, pooling moonshine
Against the frosted glass like little icebergs. You’ve caught my attention
But never mind the softness of your silhouette when midnight masks murderers.
A poem by Paige Johnson