Of Pink and Blue

pink hat on blue bed sheets

Of Pink and Blue

The dawn’s bright pinks and azures
      can only lead to arousal—
the kind that gets you to

swing your knees off the bed sheets
      and dig your toes into
the medium shag. I got

up before that, though, when the
      fog was still hiding
darkness for no good reason,

like a damp bully that wants to
      maintain a level of
wet fear among the dry

and intimidated masses. No, I was
      halfway to the grocery
store when the colors

overtook me. I was wearing them,
      too, you see—hot pink,
bright blue—but I for safety,

the sky for Rayleigh scattering.
      Even though the fog
still loitered, it was clear

to me that synchronicity was up.
      Even after the pink had
gone and left only wispy

whites and hazy blue-grays,
      time seemed to speak
more vividly of a certain

feeling for which one word
      would never do, and so I
wrote a poem of pink, of blue.

Dawn in Mures

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