Can we stand here in our simplicity
And in our self-pity
And in our stories
About our pet hamsters
And the flowers we bought for Mother’s Day
And the paint we got on each other
(There’s lilac on my forehead and sunset orange on her shoulder)
And in the themes that run deeper than the rivers we’ve carved in worse days
(Burgundy above my knee and sky blue on the back of her hand)
And in pretending and in intentional forgetting
And in better things
And in pretty things
(Like her)
And in our old jackets, the one she wore today
(There’s a siren blue color on her nose
I don’t think she notices)
And in our complexity
(All the colors mixed into a swelling black hole on the palm of my hand,
I tried to wash it off with soap, but it only made it worse)