Random Sky Thought-Clouds

sluggish tongue
of cottoned
letters
resting
restlessly
against the hollow
where my thumb
found comfort
for far longer
than I’ve ever
admitted
out loud

I want to charge admission
for all my admissions

I meant to take a nap,
smoked a bowl
instead;
now I really need
that nap
but also, pie

and a glass
of spilled milk
I’m gonna cry about
forever

comfort comes
in as many ways
that become shameful
as it does
in ways
that make us feel
righteous

happy places
aren’t always
bright meadows
and warm sunshine,
chirping birds
and cherubic fingers
in your hair

sometimes

they are storm clouds ~
lightning in your chest
and loneliness in your bones,
intimate places
of familiarity
with the shadows,
where you are as safe
as you can ever
remember being