After Coaster Midnight

My body is buzzing.

Not too much of a buzz, really,
as it is a gentle swaying.
Far too gentle, all too nauseating.

Adrenaline long since died.
Eyes practically roll to the back
of my head.

What once was ivory white skin
has become a smoldered rose covering.
Bubbling. Boiling. Burning.

And the lonely, tired poet
has returned to the chamber of loneliness,
hazel glass orbs pointed up at the ceiling and feet so sore.

Stomach left behind in the backseat of a coach bus.
in one hand, a floppy oversized Sun hat
bought 2 hours too late.

Now she is tired.
She has so many stories she wishes to share,
but is buzzing too much to remember any of them.

Goodnight