Something Unheard

her - colors

I make to grab your

arm as you turn but the

alcohol has slowed my reflexes.

I pout as you disappear

into the crowd.

You're pulling a Cinderella.

Was it something I said?

Maybe it was the tattoo on my

wrist? But youare an artist,

that should

be your thing.

I sigh and down the glass

you left in a rather unladylike way.

So much for an affinity for strong

women. I pull a few singles

out of my purse and leave a tip

before scouring the room to find

my lyricist friend, who had

no clue who you were.

He looked at me as if I was crazy

describing the sound of your voice

and checking

eyes for smooth brandy

and hands for blue paint.

Colors had never

mattered much

before, but suddenly

I couldn't help

but notice them.