Look at me, sweetie.
With all my purple bruises kissed
wildly by circumstance and time
peppered across the
evening palette of my skin–
the grey cloud of my cheeks.
Look at me, sweetie.
At my skinny, scarred fingertips
calloused by shattered china
on kitchen floors and bathroom walls.
Pink and faded upon your touch.
The scarlet plush of
uncapped skin laid bare
in cold, linoleum.
Look at me, sweetie.
At the rusty stain of my dress
against the pallid color myself.
Each splatter an afternoon
of lost thought in between words
you thought could save me.
Look at me, sweetie.
At the inky blackness I hold
within eyes stitched shut by dreams
and untold nightmares whispered
upon pillows and phone calls.
Arms and limbs holding
me tight like sutures.
I look
At you and I see brushstrokes
of fingerprints lost in between
promises and daybreaks.
I look
at you and I see a bare canvas painted
umber by the terra cotta
of unwashed coffee mugs
in the kitchen sink.
The floor kissed by sunshine,
our shadows swimming
–languid and sweet.
I look
at you and I remember glimpses
of dewy green grass between toes
blushed rose by walking.
Our midnight ceiling
punctured by stars and
whispered shared dreams.
I look at you.
And I see oranges and amber
dancing behind windows
awaiting evening.
I look at you.
And I see colours
I never thought existed.