Black, white, and gray;
the schemes that
furnish the walls of my apartment,
not personality lacking,
but to mirror
the palpitations, tones, and shades
of my heart.
There are no pink hues, or orange,
no primary or secondary colors to compliment,
whether my feelings are one fixed emotion, or several – albeit volatile –
and the light’s reflection off puddles of rain,
never mean anything to me.
Then I say to him,
(after making love,)
“I want to lie closer next to you,
but I can’t move on my own.”
(He laughs as he listens;)
He reaches out and snakes his arm around my waist;
I’m pulled into an embrace
that lasts until the thundering morn
(- it rains as we sleep).
Awakened late morning,
by the illuminating, dissipating
I see beige paint on my apartment walls;
streaks of faint,
bow in the sky.
are these what they look like?)