The skin of the blue sky is imperfect
Blemished with irregular patches of grey
And snowy white that look puffed up,
Like lazily drifting fantasy;
And when they do fall on me,
All that dreamy
Cotton candy; I am ****** awake.
They tingle on my cold skin
Then evaporate, like they never were
But a cotton candy left out too long in front
Of the starving mouth of air.