Van Gogh-Yellows

I wish I spoke

for the consumption of ten seconds,

so you'd give me your attention,

for one second,

and I’d feel

some form of validation,

in hopes that you’d return to me

for one more moment,

for I hate the unreturning.

I’m like the rising of the sun,

I want to linger

like cigars

on mustaches, lounges and lips

and spread myself

softly

in rogue-crimson,

peachy-oranges –

Van Gogh-yellows

and be deep

and mellow.

This makes me boring

and come off a little shallow,

because I’m too open.

I’m Kimberly,

I yearn for the digging.

It’s my destruction,

like an open pit,

I burn diamonds.

I want to see the bottom,

and hear the end of a story.

I want to see things

I’m not meant to know

and own with human eyes.

I want the thoughts.

I want the ground.

I want food

that fills me up,

for longer

than a few cravings,

than a bitter fool

and a few seconds.

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