NaPo 08: 15 April

Colourstorm

Red is for the pearl of blood on my fingertip,
blue for the colour of my nails as I squeeze my hands
tight. White is for your face, though your cheeks
are tinged in green. My cheeks are scarlet
from the swirls of swearing my yellow-coated tongue
weaves through the smoky brown airs. "Stick it
in water," you tell me. "Wash out the colours
so we can see the bland, numbed truth." Having dropped
the steely hammer, I spit a kiss on your lips instead.