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What black lies in white with brown smudges?
what hands lie in wait for mixing colors? 
I want to paint blue in front of you
hold services for your adolescence
I will spread out for you like spillage
for the love of do-overs and whole hands
I will slide through the bless-ed opening
bury myself in full collage for you

What black bleeds quietly over hard lines to love white too?
what brown edges eat the litany of childhood happening new?
first 3 times then 5 years old
your face was full and painted over
then you fed me forward and I fell back
afraid of your recital
now 6 years counted and I reach for solid melodies
in place of memories and effigies

We are black and white double sided irony
or late 80’s finely diced analogies
(the aftermath of carelessly carved out romantic fatalities)
starting from Cortlandt Avenue and stretching to Richbell Road
up and over several bridges
I do not want to paint the rain on Brooklyn streets
without ever knowing how it heals to be blurred lines for you

If we are both hungry and wanting to be widened
if we can color in and I am moved by the eyes on you
then will you eat all of my excess yes?
I will take back everything that ever poked the white space of you
fall back and open through holes and drippings
and blue out whatever bled your face red too
spit my colors out and fall backwards into you
eat you black and white
(digest you raw)
after I love the holes closed
fill in everything that ever hurt the space of you.

*I committed to writing a love-themed poem every Friday in February. This is the last one and possibly the most difficult one to approach saying in words.


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