Painted Faces on Parade
I am breathless with the effort of this masquerade.
I drink in the moon and hide from the sun,
pretending I never did need to breathe.
Death-masked daydreams skitter before reddened
eyelids, throwing a lavender fantasy into sharp relief.
I can bury myself in a sex-scented reverie, but
I’ll still be trying to burrow into the blackened earth.
A pale kiss never could solidify this illusion.