Clapboard Houses in Late September Light

I want to speak to you in shades of yellow in patterns filtering sunlight through the street-facing window onto cotton sheets occasionally we speak of precipitation armed with winter-proof boots our hair already wet the yellow kind of rain that makes you comfortable & softens your exposed skin

I am trying to separate you from preconceptions vulnerability gone stale needles don’t hurt if you look the other way I am always giving blood that nobody wants

navy and coral            seafoam green            butter yellow
barn door red with faded window boxes; royal blue

there is lethargy in loving when you are out of practice when you’re reluctant when you’ve never given yourself over to it before

rusty orange       saltwater blue       warm brown       butternut squash
plastic shovel blue                  sweet mustard yellow

I want to watch and not see the parts of you that I’ve made up in my head listening to the chorus of homemade sounds from this rooftop pretend that the city stops when the lights go out

I don’t know if the past lives on the corner of Robie & Jubilee or if I’m sleeping with it every night I don’t know if scars fade or if I’ve forgotten which are seams and which were tears

I have not stopped holding hands with stoicism or biting my nails how can I show you this city in yellows painting in red and black I am not looking at the canvas and this rain is hard and fast and terrifying it is dark blue black, not yellow