Blue notes
documenting this blue
eyed being
cast in a low amber light
filtering through
windows draped with warmth with summer
air’s warm and smells of yellow
cumin and turmeric sticks
out a little,
fronds of hair escaping
this space
apart,
the air’s warm and smells of yellow but I’m in the
blue,
I think of Monet’s passion written in
still blue waters
smoulder,
as lilies’ scents press the air
feels close,
drifts with a silken language whose syllables run
on a surface that parts when you laugh
in that shirt
threaded with conversation
weaved through ‘til
dusk
blue
is a curiously cool soft
rinse
out the fraying mumblings,
the crumpled notes
taken in ink
blue
is a quiet
flourish of words
from pencils and paper are my tools
to move,
to stir,
you pick spoons over lead
blue is a quiet stirring blue led
me to want to ask if I could stay
but I’d only ever known green
saw blue and closed like a clam.
At night,
blue is a quiet
flourish
pulsing
beating wings of moths in the black ink into blue and
bathe with lilies
sepals, wings, moths soft
blue skin
in still blue waters
where the Celts of Ireland would dye
their bodies for battle
this girl of Ireland dyes her body for
battling
blues enough to swallow me down
glide fingers along the spine
breathes between the toes
dip in blue holes in the ocean
pulls
'blue is a quiet flourish' 