Peach Sky

the sky is orange;
wait, no, peach,
ripe and soft and blushing red peach,
swirls of yoghurt clouds across its skin.
an invisible mouth (god?) bites into it
and the
juice
starts to
drip
down,
slow
and
lazy
at first, then
quicker and quicker and quicker until it’s slicing down like dazzling diamond earrings.
the juice collects on the
side
of
the road
and
sluggishly makes
its way
into the drain.

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