It’s the type of periwinkle blue

That envelops you,

And yet, it seems so far away.

And yet, you can reach right through it

And touch the sun

Before the star’s so blazing hot

That you can’t even look at it.

Everything stops talking, now,

To admire the pastel gown

That the sky was truly wearing, 

When everyone thought that is was black, 

And when she turns, the backless nothing

Glimmers skin.

She goes within herself and folds into

The morning blue,

And who can rasp a terrified ‘hi,’

To Morning Sky,

When she is so ghastly beautiful,

And so far above 

Our highest concepts, of even truth,

Or even love?

I will.

Good morning, Morning Sky!

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm...

Kiss me.

-jenn