We are naked.
We are sunsets.
We are seers.
I held this poem underwater.
It yapped like a pedigree beagle.
Water torture is not for patriots, mavericks or pussies.
We are burning.
We are Haley’s Comet.
We are storytellers.
I held this poem up to the light.
It shined brighter than any super nova.
Rainbows are for leprechauns, munchkins and torch singers.
We are livewires.
We are lightning in a bottle.
We are stigmata.