Marching June

I let you repaint the city with me.

Dripped in all of our different memories,

I can’t unsee it…

& I can’t unsee you.

From Midtown to Downtown, your handiwork follows me.

Like a street artist, you’ve made your mark.

Tagging throughout Times Square, to the corners of Chelsea.

Curious pinks blooming into sinful reds

The city was full of color.

WE were full of color.

The sky was bluer when you smiled.

The sun brighter,

The moon whiter…

But the grass is always greener to someone else…

And not everyone gets the picture…

So I guess in the end we were two artists with the same passion, but with different visions.

If you asked me yesterday my favorite color, I would easily tell you: purple.

The color of the horizon, as the sun dipped behind the city’s buildings.

The color of power and wealth, as it dripped from the garments of ancient aristocrats.

But today…

As your snores battle against the television’s narrative, I’m distracted by the palatable hues of melanin.

The blend of chocolate from your lids, as they lock away the swirl of mocha enchanting

your eyes, to the raspberry kisses adorning the Hershey valleys of your shoulders, to the caramel passion filled letters carved into your back…

… And I couldn’t tell you when I developed such a sweet tooth…

But I’m perpetually grateful for Daylight Savings for helping me appreciate my new favorite color of you.

Submitted by an anonymous.

No clue why she wants to remain anonymous- but c’est la vie.


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