There are some evenings…

You just happen to tilt you head back and dusk is already right in front of your face.

Sometimes it’s just you, sometimes, some dude taps on your shoulder and while pointing straight upward he goes “Hey…look at that!”

And of course you’re gonna look, ‘cause what’s to see is just not real.

The sun is suddenly more than a big ball of flaming gas, the clouds more than some vapor. This red hot blood spread across the sky seems to come right from your veins.

You gaze into this huge scenery and you realize that it’s taking everything away. No more endless commute to your office, no more ******* for your missing pencil sharpener, no more reports, boss, todesangst… ****… for what it’s worth girls don’t even have ***** anymore.
Right that moment, it’s all burning along with the clouds and slowly sinking.

Then you just have enough time to blink twice and it’s dark already. Daddy Sun is gone to his other family.

You’re still there though, staring at nothing, feeling your existential mess creep back up your spine, cramped between the pencil sharpener and some girl’s *****.

What are you supposed to do then?

You’ve just been the enlightened Zen monk from the movie for a full minute, and now papa’s gone home, you’re back to your old whiny self. **** it up.

How are you supposed to return to your everyday’s plasma screen craving and internet **** when you feel you’ve just been dumped by the Sky itself?

I mean… how are you supposed to survive a sunset?

I'll kiss your pillowcases to stain them
Cover them in orange lipstick
For you to remember my lips
and when you wash them,
if you manage to gracefully clean them
I'll let you forget me
and I'll forget you

I have a special talent.
I have the ability to taste peoples personalities.
It sounds weird, I know.
But this is not a fictitious writing.

It happens only on the very first interaction with someone.
Only in person obviously-
Not through text or the phone.

I feel it-
Rather, I taste it in the first words they speak.
The first time our eyes meet.
And in one instance, the first hug.

I guess I don't "taste it"
Its more instinctual-
It almost feels like a memory.
Not like I just imagine it.
Its more like-
When you think someone said your name when they didn't.

Sometimes people taste like the smell of rain.
Some, like salt water.
some, like cloth or toothpaste.
On an occasion-
Sweet Orange Soda.

I guess I don't know if its actually personalities I am "tasting"
It just so happens that the Fellows that taste like burning rubber, or rotten cheese end up being the ones that just cant get along with me.

Its hard not to judge-
When my body does it at the instant.

Maybe its all about mannerisms, and subconscious memories.

Its odd.
Ill stick to my friends that taste like Mint and Orange sodas-
Fruit and cake dough-
Than those-
who taste like moldy bread.

you stolen pink, arson rose
you angry yellow
you know you the new black?
you inmate slap
color of construction
oh range
convict cage or bruised sunset
you peel or rind
oh range
oh range
(oh aren't you glad I didn't say orange?)
you uniform agent
you coral fire burnt
aren't you glad i didn't say orange?

My orange dress
I wore it last
That night
My soul you undressed

I was in love
With all of you
You stripped it down
Claiming we
Belonged to you.

I am reclaiming
What is mine,
What has always been
Mine

I take a vow
I wear it now
This dress I love
My color of love

Dedicate it to
Ours to adore

The one
Given from above.

The sun was in haze
Smoke or dust shrouded mountains
I felt stranded here.

It's 5:11am. A pretty time.
The street lights outside, in my dipped  valley lane,
glow orange against the soft, warm, gloomy shades of morn.
The pretty pitter-patter of rain I can
hear on the roof is adorning the bluebells in crystals which will twinkle when the wild wide world wakes.