Love Poem #9
Love is a palette of five wet colors. The third is your bottom lip. The first tastes like a goodbye kiss and dries to shades of cinnamon. The fourth is louder than the first time I said "I love you." The second is a saltwater breeze. The tide coming in. The fifth is the way my hair smells after your shampoo. Like apples we haven't picked yet. The third color becomes your freckles after a day in the sun. Your freckles smell like April rain. Same. When it rains your freckles burn like the first color. The cold pavement of love is painted like this with five colors. I'll fly to you when you were a five year old. Become your stuffed honey bear. You will hold him every night. Protect him in your dreams. Stick your hand inside me. Sticky and sweet and as hard as honey, fur, and paws. You will grow up so strong. You will swim to Martha's Vineyard. Vacationers on a whale watch will see you jump like a porpoise. A porpoise will read you this letter. Love is written in five colors and stuffed in a bottle. Thrown overboard. Found by a porpoise. di quest'onda che rifluisce dai ricordi la città s'imbeve coma una spugna e si dilata. The city shines with five wet colors: l, o, v, e, s.