I always believed that when I found it,
It’d be pink.
Like the lining of my stomach and the color of a baby’s cheeks
Feminine and gentle, unassuming and soft
I dreamed of pink like it was consuming me,
swallowing me up like oceans and swaddling me like a mother
Lightly retreating from me only to return in subtle waves of devotional worship
I dreamed of pink and cast a spell to live in pink
Like it was real.
You call me crying, 3 in the morning but you know I’ll answer
Tears of pink, explosions of pink, poems of pink
You cast me into it, whispering the beauty of it
Us crying in the color we dream of.
My eyelashes are wet with something, cascading down the mountains of my face,
Complicating my peaks.
My skin is cold from your pink, your overflowing, consuming, overpowering pink
And you whisper it like a spell, like the ones I yelled when I was little praying for pink,
ten fingers and ten toes of pink like you wouldn’t believe, you tell me.
I dreamed of pink and cast a spell to live in pink.
To chase it over mountains and down into valleys of desire
Set fields ablaze in search of pink,
Cry to the heavens for it. For pink,
I would lie before you bare, outstretched, begging you to see it like I do.
I would welcome anything for pink.
Yet, I am showered with the absence of pink, with anti-matter lacking the ingredient I need.
ten fingers and ten toes of pink and I can’t believe
How easily a spell can backfire
And drown you in the absence of pink.