and she, she told me i was blue
like rainstorms and spring
and our feet damp with dew
like hurricane warnings
bright eyes and the morning
she told me i was blue
and i, i told her she was red
like apples and anger
and love, i said
like sunsets and bleeding
like kisses and evening
i told her she was red
YOU ARE READING
where the roads don't go
Poetryin·tro·spec·tion noun \ˌin-trə-ˈspek-shən\ : the process of examining your own thoughts or feelings
