black. pink. yellow. purple.
tell me the truth –
not the cathedral truth,
not the poems and symphonies –
i know the sugar is sweet,
and so are you
i mean the sour, margarita truth,
the sip with salt that seeps into the cut on my lip –
how much do love me when you dont have to?
everyone wears rings,
everyone slips them off.
before washing their hands,
or before doing something they will need to wash off.
but nail polish –
thats deliberate.
that stains a little.
would you paint your nails for me?
not because anyone is watching.
because you want to look at your hands
and see me there.
black. pink. yellow. purple.
what if
if i got sick –
not poetic sick, not tragic-and-glowing sick,
but mucus and fever, skin that smells
like hospitals.
a body that is breaking down.
you love me now,
i see it in this polished reflection of us, but
what if
if i couldnt sing.
if i couldnt write.
if i lost the thing that made me shimmer.
if i had nothing left but breath.
if only you had color.
would you still love me?
what if the world loved me?
what if i loved myself?
what if i did not need you
but wanted you.
craved you.
desired you.
like water desires form.
like paint desires canvas.
would you still paint?
black. pink. yellow. purple.
our lives are not decided years at a time
i am asking if in two weeks
when your nails have chipped,
and peeled,
and faded,
when the color has worn
would you paint your nails for me again?
not because they might last,
but because you want us to