Indigo Hues

I love this color in you.

Indigo Hues

 

It's been cold down here today,

Cold in the way that makes me lift my arms up like blankets around my wish

For you to be here again with me,

So that I could feel the warmth of your smile on my arms,

And together we could wear lazy Tomorrow like pajamas in a backseat

Drive to meet you in the middle.

But we can't all move that way:

The roads can be too long,

Long and cold and we both know there's not much daylight left in the tank.

 

You say it’s been hot,

Heavy with the advances of a Sun that wouldn’t take a hint.

I’m going to have to do something about that guy…

"Under that light it all looks the same"

 You think when you shrug and say it is

“Just a scratch.”

But it’s much deeper than that:

It’s a scratch caught edgewise

From a glancing blow of breath against the sharp intake of air;

Sudden, as if from a slicing pain.

You cut battle scars in the shape of tally marks to remind yourself of all the fights

You’re still fighting.

I don’t think a wounded Samurai could be more veteran

Then you are, now,

Especially as I watched you try to dodge the bombs

“They” flick from their tongues like rabid foam

Falling all around you in a haze of heavy breath;

Nagasaki bombs with war-time phrases like:

“Hey baby, show us your tits,”

And laughter over what you won’t kill to eat

Written in drool and spittle all over the stare-riveted metal casings.

 

Your fingers, they float together like driftwood.

You clench them into rafts:

They help you hold your head above the waves “Their” sweaty looks make merge.

Their vacant-look froth covers an already green ocean.

It makes the shape of the world when it circles you, swirling into a prowl.

I know you are convinced those sharp indigo tears won’t sink in

Enough to change its color,

So you shake your head and sigh like:

“What a waste,”

While those sharp hued tears,

They fly away like bluejays from all of us mocking birds.

 

 I would see us stripped of all our hurting words,

Like walking through a swirling midnight

Blizzard of all those sharp black feathers finally, at last cast off.

Watch them; see the gritty wind in “Their” eyes,

Black feathers cutting “Them” instead of you,

Their arms heavy from the words they threw.

See “Their” dust storms slapped out of the cherry trees, and pushed

Back by the heat of your laugh,

At last: I am warm, here, with you.