I’m drowning in this night.
Please give me a jot of joy
turn on the light
to spurn this blight
I’ve gone overboard
send me a buoy.

in the predawn fog
a faint outline of fences
could be observed

He left
A mark the color of red wine
Zinfandel
Placed high on cheek bone
Directly under her left eye
Such tears only bruising
It further

I didn't mean to
He simply stated

She left
A note the color of resentment
Charcoal
Placed atop bedroom dresser
Directly over her exiled contents
Such emptiness only reinforcing
It further

Once was more than enough
She simply stated

You can be alone in a noisy room full of people
20/6/2020

The first time I made a watercolor
was unclear and inconcise
a bleeding between emotions; of colors overlapping
the brush tasted blue and loved it
wanted to spread it across the page
A permanently stained brush always leaves a mark of its first color
bleeding into all others