Baby Blue Blues

To me baby blue blues look like: scorched pines and quiet reeds that are humming together, flickering just like droplets on the lake like they do at this time of the year. Maybe a grasshopper crooning subdued under rocks and earth and dewy grass. I've even wondered if it could smell like vanilla powder, tacky snd sugary like candy canes.

All I know is my dress is drenched and I need a change of clothes to dry off in.

Baby blue blues might also look like: I thought about this day last year, under your bed in the tender midnight murk. It felt different and the same. It felt like gold flakes falling - veined and patterned leaves, easy easy. And of course it tasted like blue so rich it curls like ink squid spaghetti black.

Either way I'm certain that baby blue blues have called me by first name, whispering and twirling like matchmaking fireflies, circling my frame like a sunrise shadow clinging, encompassing. Whether or not I understand my baby blue blues is a topic for another night, when we're not so tired. Just remember that they are blue and baby and blues.

Baby blue blues won't let me forget.