Coasting

When butterfly wings flutter
behind eyes of pristine blue –
ghosts of antique Sundays.
When lipstick smudges mimic Rorschachs,
crimson sunset bursts,
on your ever-so white crowns; perfectly
they mirror these everlasting furrows
that have placed flags in your delicate brow.
Laughter – the silent transformer,
Just like the wind…
As it morphs avenues of perfect sand
Revealing alleys, cliffs, ravines…
This precipice, being whittled away
Moment by moment, second by minute by day
The straw swings back, kissing ears
Full façade revealed
Under a smoldering sun