Even if i promise
to forget i’ve held the ground
and known the night in my lungs
it’d be unfair
because you are the tiles in my mural
the first words on my palimpsest
and to take away you is to take away blue.
Even if i am only lonely lavender —
that would be enough.
Even if the water rises
beyond the seawalls of Manhattan
(a few tall buildings)
it’d be unfair
because you’d swim laps round each floor
— butterfly — and you’d drown because
you learned to swim without learning to breathe.
Even if a gold barrette held the last light you saw
that would be enough.
Even when you lay me down
when i’m no longer light
to your tired arms
it’d be unfair
because my heels have never touched the ground
— uncalloused —
bleeding lavender on any sharp rock
learning to walk.
learning to swim.
Both of us starting with — front crawl —
that would be enough for you.
you who cannot swim
i by - 1.50 - blind
i will be your lungs
if you will be my eyes
Even if you wash me out
i would stain your lips
your hands your shoes
and it’d be unfair
because i’d still be blue and pink (dark)
to your synesthetic mind
my eyes would still be not-brown
and i’d still bleed lavender.
Even if i knew you at your grays —
that would be enough.