But lately,
I've been falling like rain,
collectively puddling at the edges of your rain boots,
splash,
your boots bright red
like my cheeks the first time we impromptu'd to the beach
because we didn't have anything better to do,
and everyone forgot us anyway.
My pants were, peach,
or maybe coral,
but rolled up enough to see the sharped edges of my ankles,
because it was what I could afford to give you,
I had lost those trimmings long ago to the world,
even though it never gave me any of my pieces back,
and speaking of,
I still have white pieces of sand in my pockets,
and maybe if I poured them out on your floor,
we could have had a beach of our very own.
And I could roll down those pants, you could change into your teal shirt,
and we might have sunbathed
in our own warmth,
glowing yellow and bright
like those little specks in your eyes
nobody ever notices,
but I knew they were there.
That's what happens when you pay attention to the details of people,
You find in them colors that are too hard to name,
but
if you have a color wheel and a pen, you can find out what they're called, and even if you can't,
you can make up your own as you go along, like;
Greasy-pizza-stain-from-the-little-shack-on-the-water-red,
and light-2009-Pontiac-G6-that-got-you-to-the-beach-when-you-had-no-place-else-to-go-grayish-blue.
You can even almost mix these
colors into paint,
and hand them out in pamphlets to all of your friends and family;
"Here's the shade of green
the leaves were on the tree she sat on with me."
"This is the shade of pink
her lips were when she said 'I love you.'"
"And here's the shade of red
I saw when I heard her say goodbye."
Old, repurposed poetry. I can't think of anything new.