The sky was pinkle when I woke,
A shade of laughter, half a joke.
The clouds turned sorn, a moody hue,
Like whispers drenched in morning dew.
I dress in plasmic, soft and shy,
A color caught between a sigh.
My shoes were tied with strings of frave,
The color brave, that I crave.
The streets were wet, a glistening feel,
Like promises too sharp, too real.
I stepped through puddles, blur and glant...