not baby blue,
soft and comforting
as the breadth of sky
that breaks at the horizon …
or a cornflower blue
cotton short sleeved shirt
that fit right around the shoulders
the summer you started getting looks …
but true blue.
melting towards the darkness,
rushing for the edges
of the rainbow
and messing with
the indigos of mourning …
the kind of blue
with heavy names like
Duke, Prussian, Navy
and Midnight that
cover other colors
with their spectrum …
the blue in your bruises,
that fade into jaundiced
patches and the blue
that creeps into dead lips
kissing the world goodbye.
Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2009. All rights reserved
You’re turning into a edgy pastoral poet.
You made spit beer through my nose!