weak spots

i have this idea.
it changes colors daily.
from the color of the citrus
sitting silently on my counter
to the color of the clear water
that surrounds my eyes.

you can say one simple word
and the color changes, migrates,
and takes roots in something
altogether entirely different.

nothing is dressed in the color
it appears and you are translucent
in moments and at times
the color of the thickest dark.

i open my eyes over and over
and still can’t make out the clear
lines of your face. i wonder
what spectrum you speak–
every color that falls from your lips feels
somehow not to be as bright as you
want or intend it to be.

occasionally, you look at me
and the color of your eyes matches mine,
because you look away faster than i
can grasp the name of it.

and i want to name all of you.
and i want to color outside your lines.


Categories: Poetry

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