That you that very extra part of who you are That extra you That refuses to be blue That indulges in the new That loves things examined and profuse That darkness in your rhythm That glory in your spine That faded glow Of mornings light Living in the dusk of your smile That raspberry bliss That kiss on the lips From these tips The little pout of skin On the rim of my digit Is belightful She’s a white stone And a blue moon A dark morado heart And mint ice cream in her tones She’s tralificent Piercing eyes like a taradactal's call Nose as knowing as the bill of a heron She’s green corn And green lights on Santa Monica Blvd Cars passing before her on parade Wizzing ever to her aid She’s maple syrup And pink Helvetica 16.7 or 32 pt font in bold She's wistful She's perfect She's Buster Keaton And Jessica Rabbit She's Chicago in Paradise She's Arnie's Vegan Pizza Palace She's A to Z as many ways as you like She is passion sizzling on a stick She is upside down and inside out and abiding in her own bowl of Magic Soup
Recently, she’s baby blue, too A color she’d never met that she never knew A color she’d never thought she’d be But now, In this new season of weeping Cerulean and turquoise go sweeping by She’s heard blue in her ears caught this blissful mist swirling in the corners of her spies And now here they are together in a dance in the ether Both surrounding each other Neither knowing either Strangers to the danger that must surely lie within But deep inside there does abide a spoon big as the moon to lap up the soup she's stewed and brewed since June.
A 47 foot tall marble woman resurrected by some teenagers trying a spell in the park Shades of white with royal blue speckles Lilting away into the day with 1000 pound foot steps and unstoppable knees Leaving evergreen and fresh pine leaves In her wake. Spring up life where I touch down with these cool marble soles Massive and made of ancient earth not knowing anything but what she must Forsaking the flaws of humankind that would do her harm be her fall Paint her speckles Cry wolf calls Awareness found apart from that familiar shade of jade is what she seeks now clothed in freshly spun flesh
Been lost in the dichotomy of black and white Of dark and light Of wrong and right But there is a shadow and a dim and a bright There is a disaster and a mess and a slight Colors and shades galore; eggshell, magenta and quite a bit more I could go on But rather I’d tell you that
She’s skirts hoisted up crossing a river at dawn She’s the soft pectoral muscle of a sweet mare in the hot summer sun She’s a lineback dun She’s creamed corn She’s soft core **** but give it a slap, a thwack A proper **** Again With feeling
She’s neon nightscapes She’s every book she’s ever read She’s scheming tree nuts finding the perfect spot to burrow into the soil nestled by nature’s urging to sprout a root and grow into a baby leaf creeping up towards the sky and downward further downward rooting deeper ever growing always breathing never being the same never changing in any way but in all the ways she must A 1960’s average family man’s mid-life crisis convertible Something turquoise Fit for the kids and the wife and the ego and the front lawn and the grocer and a hightail down the coastline She’s cinnamon and thyme She’s spicy On the back of her neck in the crook of her spine where the stardust that she’s made of meets for the millionth time She’s a wave breaking in your mouth
She’s pouring boiling water into a lukewarm bath She’s love
Salt water spewing levitating you but not for long if you don’t carry your own weight be dragged to sea always with me don’t get lost in my motion in my ocean in my Trojan horse my gift you mistook as something you could own