You’ve stopped dreaming
Thankfully and have stolen back
your eyes you’re color
you’re sure everything is a box of crayons
the blues lives here
inside the body this drum
and not in a record player the needle
is your tongue
remember her name you want to call out
that beautiful color
the one that hid
between vineyard and whiskey
for years the notes waited
for you she whispers
you’re a man
you ask her to say it
over and over again
you’re overwhelmed with vowels
their colors so strange yet familiar
you lick your finger your lips.
the sky adores you
Listen to this poem:
