The Kentucky Sky Line Lit Like a Rainbow-Fish,
A Peacock Frivolous and Unnecessary
Your voice is like the kicking of a can down a gravel road
like sandpaper scratching my stability and slowly causing erosion
like a Jefferson Airplane song
like the wind being shoved through the gaps in my window pane
The touch of your hand is a shackle of possession.
A chill
a permanent frost on a brittle branch.
It is the outside of a neon-picked apple,
shiny
smooth
but also hard to touch.
Your neck smells like the salt from an icy street
Like golden lotus in summer shade.
Like a salty shore, strong and retrieving my senses.
Like a new car with tan leather seats
Like maple wood ash.
By: Jessica, Lauren, Matt
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