I feel purple,
That is to say- a twisted violet with wandering midnight eyes,
All the sixes and nines reach over and their curves miss the feverish ache of mouths.
Now it is just words.


Trees with branches like electricity and ones as tall and hopelessly thin.


Words have been so failingly my friend,
Now I question more and to what end?
The colours I feel,
The pinks and the blues,
I find so unreal, laid next to you,
Whispers of jade and loving primrose,
Relax back to chrome with pastel disposed.

Now this electricity and heat,
These stone steps on every street,
And your Judaic eyes say "what now?"
This blooming child in me asks "how?"
So I bite your lips and hair like he taught me,
A shadow of his face in your ecstasy,
I am so naive without experience,
So lost since he left and ever second since.


First, we fell out of love very hard and fast so it was over very soon.
But my first times had been my last for so long and the thought of brought dew to my eyes.
This week, I wrote a poem about you.


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