Cloud Milk Morning
Washed blue folds itself into a soft comma, bright enough to drink.
before the name arrives, the sky is already listening.
Washed blue folds itself into a soft comma, bright enough to drink.
A horizon thread thins until it becomes a breath across clear blue.
Hold the day to your ear; the blue returns as a pearled room.
Rose light loosens the spiral; lavender bokeh floats like remembered rain.
The shell fills the screen like a moonlit ear. Inside it: one small day, still blue.