The sun and moon are no longer visible (low level clouds)

A closet in the fifth cloud
of my periphery
is housing the breath that was held
in a kiss that doesn't exist.

When the lite brite turns
black and white
I'll remember the lack of touch
was most intimate.

I thought I saw you
duck out a door
too blond and the rain was
pouring us another drink

It washed away all my color
I tugged at the knife
as the blood drained from your stare.