When room lights are out, everything blurs together.
Shadows start to take form and grab squirming bodies tight.
Always dyed black, they’re never anything fun—
Like fuchsia pink blossoms,
Or sky blue fish dwellings,
Or bright purple left by marble-splattered
Paint on white canvas sheets.
Cold is just the absence of heat.
Dreams of lilies and Amazonian monkeys
Are few and far between.
Only the lucky catch stars
And planets in their waving nets.