When words can’t say what you want them to
when your failures resound an anthem or two
I find your tongues more appealing than news
about the location of other phantoms or blues

When lines don’t line up the way I want them to
when I’m left heart-shattered at the peak of noon
Interrogation starts on our quarrelsome revenue
turning into May – is this a “hickie or a bruise”?

But may I ask you – not that I may not – I do
want to know – is this a “hickie or a bruise”?
Is it love is it a fight we put up because I blew
up all the sadness in your discs of jazzy blues?

But may I add to your sorrow a pinch of red hue?
would that enable us to create baby violets in lieu
Of blue depression or red violence – I want you
but wouldn’t choose between a hickie or a bruise

The color violet may be hard for you to value
when things suddenly emerge from the soil to
Bring forth new & renowned substantial food
it might seem like the plants speak in Hebrew

The bruises I tailored for you are hidden in the zoo
wandering preying ‘fore its attempt to ooze on you
But only when the lines line up & words overused
do they finally say my love what you want them to

The wings of butterflies let the sun shine through
now we know this is not a bruise
But a sun-kissed glow
it’s you
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