tallonrk1
11-11-2015, 08:00 PM
Those warmer colors—
brown— like coffee warmth or
firewood warmth or
the warmth of his eyes—
cups of coffee on white table cloth or
firewood against white brick or
someone asks him about the girl
he ****ed in Cuba.
Those warmer colors—
like cigar warmth or
whiskey warmth or
the warmth of his body—
the blanket twenty-feet away
that your ailing body can’t reach or
the broken thermostat
in winter that doesn’t change a goddamn thing or
he tells me he hasn’t had a girlfriend
since high school.
Those hotter colors—
red— like lipstick red
or fire red or
one-man-one-woman-red or
he says nothing about the sex,
leaves it up to imagination—
those hotter colors—
like his body against hers hot or
his lips against hers hot or
those warmer colors—
like his eyes across the room warmth or
his hand brushing against my ring finger warmth or
we ask the world to tell us how to love
those warmer colors or
we ask ourselves about controlling
those hotter colors or
I don’t know how to receive neither
and give both.
Those colder colors—
blue— like tears
pooling into palms cold or
oceans cold— like drowning
underneath the body—
Those darker colors—
absence— like body of water absence or
body of body absence or
drowning in a body absence or
absence of a body absence or
a body of absence—
like sitting next to a boy you love
who gives his body to other people,
and I am the body of absence,
laying in bed
holding the comforter against my chest
as if it were his body
those warmer colors—
like wishing I was a woman
so I could hold his warmth
like wishing I was straight
so I could hold his warmth
and my body holds
his absence
brown— like coffee warmth or
firewood warmth or
the warmth of his eyes—
cups of coffee on white table cloth or
firewood against white brick or
someone asks him about the girl
he ****ed in Cuba.
Those warmer colors—
like cigar warmth or
whiskey warmth or
the warmth of his body—
the blanket twenty-feet away
that your ailing body can’t reach or
the broken thermostat
in winter that doesn’t change a goddamn thing or
he tells me he hasn’t had a girlfriend
since high school.
Those hotter colors—
red— like lipstick red
or fire red or
one-man-one-woman-red or
he says nothing about the sex,
leaves it up to imagination—
those hotter colors—
like his body against hers hot or
his lips against hers hot or
those warmer colors—
like his eyes across the room warmth or
his hand brushing against my ring finger warmth or
we ask the world to tell us how to love
those warmer colors or
we ask ourselves about controlling
those hotter colors or
I don’t know how to receive neither
and give both.
Those colder colors—
blue— like tears
pooling into palms cold or
oceans cold— like drowning
underneath the body—
Those darker colors—
absence— like body of water absence or
body of body absence or
drowning in a body absence or
absence of a body absence or
a body of absence—
like sitting next to a boy you love
who gives his body to other people,
and I am the body of absence,
laying in bed
holding the comforter against my chest
as if it were his body
those warmer colors—
like wishing I was a woman
so I could hold his warmth
like wishing I was straight
so I could hold his warmth
and my body holds
his absence