Rhea Gangavkar

The first time I hung off a cliff,
was a cliff speckled with blue,
My legs dangled into tantalizing shades of prussian and aquamarine,
and so began a lifelong adventure
of skidding on melancholy
The skidding gradually fluttered into ice-skating,
with blue hands pressed up against the delicate floor,
One day I turned too sharply,
and plunged into the electric blue waters,
swatting the hands around me that pressed on my still-warm belly
and my arms rose slowly, welcoming or surrendering?
I rose above the sunrise-soaked waters with a gasp,
gulping some azure saltwater in a frenzy,
Toes tingling, I moved into perpendicular happiness,
The meaning of blue changes with the arrival of the sun.

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