Amanda Kay Writes

there's a point when you've pulled the taffy too far it's thin and frail threadbare more hole than lace it's narrow and wispy spider-webby a dandelion seed in the wind try to catch it with your tongue lick lick lick fruitlessly at the air like a blind dog all you taste is a glimpse of sweetness as it wafts away

an infant, ripening sun is rising yolky, yellow, yummy bright as a baby's gummy grin lionhearted like a four year old she peek-a-boos over the horizon beaming, bewitching, blazing strutting around in glittery sassypants tickling the day awake with smiles embracing the warm air and cool earth with trembling arms this angers the established suns the dim and brittle suns the cavalier suns high on brightness the fictional suns going to church the huffy and narrow suns so the established suns shoot down the infant, ripening sun they pull back on their bows aim and let their arrows fly piercing the infant, ripening sun she flops to the damp ground sunny side down