Roots
Love grows in the evening
Dies at dawn
There is not enough prophecy about hearts
How it can become vapor
Fighting for space in the sky
There are many kinds of light
but the one in this poem has the color of
A hole & takes over the night
If you take away the pump in my chest
In the name of heartbreak
You will have roots in your hands
And a ditch in my soul
Too deep
It will pull you in
Purple is the color of loss
The sun disappears and leaves a reminder
To say, I could take my light &
You will burn reaching for it
Call the only star in the middle of the
Night a survivor
Or name it a convict
As I point my middle finger
up without conviction. I cry with a mouthful of thorns
Because grief is colorful –
The redness of anger. The blue of the vacuum. The gold of disbelief. The brownness of the earth that devours
I have never seen such mundane paleness
A body swollen like full lips after sucking on grapefruit – purple
How does the color of royalty become a cloak for death?
I will kiss the gentian of your lips
Violently till
Your life starts resurfacing as hickeys
