My heart has never stopped racing and will not park soon.
You are sitting like a painting, my painting, waiting for me to come
as trees climb up blue sleeves.
They call
they call
me to the Sudden Night.
They tell me
you are my living field of the color purple,
and they know I need your leaves to blanket me.
You miraculously transform into my tears,
my tears.
The closeness pushes me off of my imagined cloud
of eucalyptus and pink champagne.
The fur coats purring in the closet, the diamond earrings,
the heart-shaped shades -
love is not an easy way out.
Love has written bruises on my knees
and yours.
YOU ARE READING
PERCHED PARCHED BUTTERFLY
PoetryYour voice is the paint I take to the sky, splattering it all over, so they can all know you're nigh.
