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aj heatherly Jul 2016
1
Citrus hues and cerulean blues
The question was never why we were here.
The sound and the sky palleted one another,
paint brushes older than time itself.
The people elated with the sense of the place,
Pulses bumping, in line with the tempo.
Through our translucent flesh, the feeling flowed;
We were one; then, in a moment, we were gone.
i Mar 26
Red, the colour that
drew me in. What sits in my
skin and flows through yours and his.
My favorite dark shade of rage or cranberry
poison i sip in. My colour makes way for my craft,
  so know , my chest stopped beating when you palleted  
me like that. You held a brush to my detail                       and
    swam to make contrast , blue in my veins,                          blue
      on you. Ice that hit the reflection of my                        sky,
sky to sea, sea to skin , skin to you. for a last… Your
eyes , im am now blue. From never been read,
red, said. To feeling being.violet again.
the crows care little
for the mist

the snowmelt
or the palleted rain

they call
and carve the air

above the park
where do they go

after dark?
in their night silence

what do they think about?
elsewhere

something stirs
from its winter slumber

elsewhere
something uncoils

from its tight darkness
do not concern yourself

with the heavy details
of life

with the weight
of things

that sometimes swing
against you

find a place
with quiet light

and sing

— The End —