by Faye Hill

Created on: April 02, 2009

Would it be that same if the sky was bleached and painted red,

blood running down the sides when it rains?

Would you still insist we watch the sunset

inches from our own faces, a blazing purple,

heat turning our cheeks a pale white.

Should it make a difference if the grass was a shade of light and dark blue,

rippling against our breath creating the sea; our mouths eating orange

yet smelling nothing but charcoal brown and pine green.

Can you still say you're infatuated with the idea of me when the star's no longer glisten like the tear on your chin?

Right and wrong are pureed together creating indigo,

sloshed across our bodies, a nakedness we never knew.

As I seal my eyes with tainted passion I wish for a simpler world

where the sky is blue and the grass green.

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