The kind of purple that only graces your skin
And your hip swing.
The kind of purple you can taste,
The kind of purple with which your lips are laced.
The shine between morning and moon,
The glimmer of beautiful doom.
The kind of purple that flickers through between the nightly curtains of your house,
The kind that blinds me wenn you laugh or furrow your brows.
And every night when I sit awake to sleep,
And tears fall and leak.
Between the pinhead stars,
There it gleams as well.
When my thoughts still insistently after you yell,
And I imagine you in all the passings cars.
