Needless Things: Pink Skies Rise

When the pink skies rise, all rules dissolve, and the air grows thick with secrets unsolved. A trumpet of clouds, a tangle of grace we sip from cups that reflect no face.

Topless women with jasmine skin, twirl where reason dare not begin. Their laughter drips like honeyed sin, bare above, and bare within.

Bottomless beneath the lace and grin, they waltz on tables, spinning din where saucers float and spoons recite mad sonnets to the dying light.

The Queen pours tea into a shattered shoe, her crown askew, her lips askew no one asks what time it is, for time here dreams, and dreams don't miss.

A sugar cube becomes a swan, the butter sings of Babylon, and every cake they dare to bite unfolds a myth in lemon light.

Beneath the blush of candy skies, no shame survives, no modesty lies. Only the dance, the glint, the steam a royal tea, inside a dream. NNN