I Carry a Palette Like a Pocket Watch 

I found

love was made for paint

in palettes or pastels on

my thumbs– I smudge on

door knobs.

I love

you like maeve sometimes

when I house my morning in

chamomile honey

tea cups.

I’m green

like watermelon

stripes when I meet you in the

subway.

Egg shell

makes it’s own white when

My friend writes me from

across

the ocean

that we had never

noticed had gotten so big

while we were away

painting

our own

mountains purple and

amber like toaster waffles.

I love you like the

black crayon.

You are

not one line in the

pink address book by my bed.

You are the braids that

I cut.

We are

the color you want

a name for but just name it

silver because it

shimmers.

I love

him in the maroon

macaroons of my day dreams

I tend to have on

Tuesdays.