bone courage

Yellow never got me high. Green neither. Blue was always a let down except that one cerulean night we shared south of Salamanca. We woke up dripping white. It was great while you were laughing. My tears fell like salt when you left. I don’t trust red.

Black in the hands of Zurbarán makes me gape so long that angels swim out of my mouth leaving me dry and desolate. Brown is plaque on my cowl, and indigo is for the birds.

Leave me in a field of orange if you want to run me back to the emergency room. Leave the straps off, please. Violet takes me back to your bed, our fingers curling together, and your breath touching my laughter just before I fled.

Indigo is in the birds, you said, and yellow never got me high.