by Taylor Gianfrancisco
it’s like a kaleidoscope broke; different hues
bomb the campus like color warfare. i can taste
the blues on my tongue like it’s the soft rain in april
before the sun sets and glazes the bricks on fire.
the flash of red is the most disturbing, cracking
into the atmosphere’s veins until it almost pops
like a blood vessel from the heavy condensation.
i want to save the drunk frat boy that fell in,
whose hand slightly grazed my small waist that one
evening. i want to drink mildly warm coffee
in the haunting darkness of the library’s fifth floor
because books are just handheld churches after all.
but then all the light grenades caved back into the sky
and pretended that they were never my manic angels.