i only have old poems & watercolors
and it’s not going to be enough
it wasn’t enough when i had new poems
and your face to paint

i gave you blue eyes to see the world out of
and you spared it a glance
said it wasn’t

your shade

i said i had time to spare
but you had already picked up your handbag

i wrote about everything you said
i didn’t have much to go on

i got myself pastels, and pencils,
and everything in between

you can always come back
they’re all named after you

is my blood
the right shade?