Smooth blueblack surface
with rusty rims,
icing sugar tips
soft green fur peaking through
like muffled reassurance through the vibration
lines curving off into the grey.
I want to run my fingers over the ridges
break through the ice lakes.
I am the ultimate voyeur eating ketchup chips;
an effectless god in a birdcage dress
and red lipstick smears.
In this overworld
the clouds have places to be
am I visiting, returning or leaving?