I used to be terrified of flying
Until I saw the sunrise on a 7AM
Chicago skyline
Rumors of clouds, whispering across
A grey cityscape and trickling into sidewalk cracks

And I saw through the window crack
The very crack of dawn on a newer day than the last
Call it pristine gray
My fears are now framed pristine gray
In blankets of doubt and navy blues
Like her pristine navy blue hair as it uttered secrets in the streets.
A small girl with a horizon smile, opening up as a jetstream
With streamlined pristine bright eyes
Poking holes in hurricanes
With her hands made of golden snakes, shining like a Chicago sunrise
Wrapped in my clutch
And if you say she doesn't shine
Then spit the pyrite from your teeth
And tell me what it's like to
Bend the truth.

Now, those snakes have long since shed their skin.
And her pristine color schemes have long faded into rippling cascades of green grass and smile-light vibrance.
Oh, I will wash my hands endlessly in my lifetime, but those colors will never run.
And to learn from a color is to love another, and to love another is to see the color of her eyes in the sunrise that takes away your worst fears.

I lost my worries in a pristine scheme,
Beautiful eyes, her hair, and a smile.
I am on the runway, waiting for my flight to depart.
These colors will not run,
And neither will I.