Grey sheets
like grey sheets of rain in the flatlands of Montana,
like the grey folds of my first tanktop, age 8,
how lovely it was, complemented my dark brown skin
that turned pale grey
in the winters of my darkest years;
grey tears.
Grey fog in my mind while i chased the sting,
filled an emptiness, exacerbated a latent calling,
to a grey demon--
the one whoe swallowed my pride for me
while I sacrificed myself to you on grey keyboards
and in grey rooms with grey drinks--
thanks to those things I lost the grey hotel room-key.
Grey skies the next morning reminded me of me
chasing after some piece of me that you had
stolen throuhg greyed trust. Jaded grey trust.
And even now the grey bonds still hold us
together, at least on grey carpet seats,
next to the grey cupholder holding the grey milkshake,
and I, smelling of red lusty nights
try to remember who chose the color scheme.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
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