Auras of orange creamsicle and soft baby blue
Drift lazily into each other;
Edging closer, twirling and blending together
Yet still shy, still hesitant:
Would-be middle school sweathearts, when the slow song comes on.
A billowing cloud imposes itself
Huffing with authority
Unready to cede the world to tenderness
Floating up, diffuse now in the air
Eyes full of silent loathing, it hangs there.
And all of this, to eyes gazing home
Appears as but a dream.
A vision full of unknown meaning
Another ripple in the stream.