Technicolor Yawn

[whitestripescd]

Your hair was plastered
to your cheeks as you opened
your mouth. Your teeth were clean.
Then I saw the sign of tiredness,
and something escaped.

The summer heat carried it
from the cave of your throat.
A Technicolor yawn fluttered
from your jaws into space;
between us and the constellations.

Your dark hair billowed
with the breeze and the yawn,
and the dreamy tuft drifted by.
Your tongue oscillated wildly
as you tasted caramel acid.

Inside were yellow and blood
red bits. Distant stars and galaxies,
planets we named after flavors,
chewed hair and fingernails.
I held you, enamored.

Our drifting universe, a spectrum
of colors and dreams, smelt
reminiscent of heavy rain and dusty clothes.
Like incense smoke it spun itself up,
as did we, back inside, on the shag carpet.

Perhaps our cosmos is still drifting,
over hills and kids, spreading the idea
clouds are more than water and gray,
but a Technicolor display
of our life.