1. blue is the warmest color.
it is the color of my dreams
as they unwind, heavy against
the sunlight of the day
waiting to beat me into submission.
sometimes the day is like periwinkle–
like one of those pastel, soft colors
on slips of cardstock in home depot.
the paper is glossy. the color is perfect
for you to paint the happy walls of your house.
2. blue is the warmest color
in this room there’s such warmth
all over it’s in
the paper lights strung above the bookcases
the spines of books like woman hollering creek,
shadow and evil in fairy tales, the collected poems
of langston hughes. the shoes of the woman
in a photograph i found in a book at work
the words on my giant copy of where’s waldo?
the tissue paper around frida kahlo in her nicho crucifix
nick’s sweater hanging across the chair to dry
the cardboard box of ‘scene it’ i haven’t even tried to play
my ventolin inhaler that keeps me alive
the top of the ozarka water bottle beside the couch
my second-favorite pen that i don’t know where i found
the bag of cool ranch doritos that has no place in this house
the sky of the taj mahal in the frame above the cat tower
the coffee cup holding my whiskey
the icon on this screen telling me to publish
3. blue is the warmest color.
it is the color of our lovemaking
in the early labor of the morning.
it is the feel of his skin across
my skin, his lips on my brow, the way
his breath lets out like a ship
glad to meet the calm waves of sea.
sometimes we are cerulean, or pacific
together–we move faster. we splash
in our sheets and drip enough to fill
an ocean. we drown the fish.
they cannot survive the whirlwind
that is us. when i am one
i am midnight blue. i retreat
deepdeepdeep into my mind and
become like the sky after the sun
has been gone for hours. somewhere
there are stars but they are not bright
enough to see or my eyes are too weak or
i probably really just made them up–
i live in a world of make-believe.