Maybe we were never star-crossed, flames tossed over skies drowning in indigo and Jupiter’s moons. I don’t know if I knew that it would be love or heartbreak or roadkill stranded on asphalt, but I knew it was an asteroid, meteoric impact, apocalyptic collision. The first moment I saw him feels more like an omen I never saw coming until the prophecy laid itself out like a soiled sheet on the yellowed mattress. His red t-shirt an expanse of warnings I disregarded for the kaleidoscope hazel around the black holes of his pupils. Maybe I give the heavens too much credit. Maybe I died when I was nineteen, and the ghosts inhabiting my body are echoes of misremembering. Maybe we were just reflections on black ice, bad timings, misplaced mistletoe in August.

Prompts used (tags are the poets’ IG handles):

@imandq + @ml.mecham + @laur_enough - “reflections on black ice” @tangledflxwers - “I died when I was eighteen, now ghosts inhabit my body” @libbyjenner.poetry - “misplaced mistletoe” @jasmine.s.higgins - “jupiter’s moons” @lorrainefaepoetry - “indigo blue” @alexismromo - “thrown into the flames” @imandq + @ml.mecham + @theincidentalpoet - “drowning skies”