The dark, star speckled sky
Envelops me.
I taste the stars,
They are like cold cream.

Envelops me,
my pale arms.
They are like cold cream,
with flecks of cinnamon.

My pale arms,
And hands wrapped around a warm mug,
With flecks of cinnamon,
a sweet heat.

And hands wrapped around a warm mug,
I plop in marshmallows.
A sweet heat,
from its scalding touch.

I plop in marshmallows.
My blood boils,
from its scalding touch.
The stars burn me.

My blood boils.
I was wrong.
The stars burn me.
They do not taste like cold cream.

I was wrong.
My taste buds blister.
They do not taste like cold cream.
I am parched.

My taste buds blister.
I’m bathed in molten.
I am parched.
I burn.