I like to stretch my hand out

and examine

(the billion little shapes)

that make up the color

of

you.

The narrow

build up,

- smile -

untailored

conversation

(just

another

sensation

to fuel

me.)

Inspiration comes from reaction;

the blending

of

shapes

that make up the color

of

(me)

and

you.

January is too casual for me -

too down to earth -

too new,

but in the end

the birth

of six years

ebbs

before it flows -

it knows

how to survive without my help.

It goes on

with

or

without

(me)

and the colors that we bring to it.

Did I think

once -

(even in the

strangely eloquent dreams

that creep between my eyelids

like sand

stuck

between jutting pages

-long ago tucked away-)

of waking up

to the notion

of these shapes;

so calm

like stillness -

youth

filters

through me

(I don't talk like that anymore

and

I don't think like that anymore)

unless I smirk

let go

lose it

embrace forthright freedom

and fake it

(I still

get

a little

crazy

sometimes.)

But I stand

by the window

and look out

reexamine the shapes

that make up

the colors

of

(us)

remember

to never forget

the way contentment burns into me like a brand;

standing

slightly disheveled

and a little crooked

with tight

arms

folding me

into new shapes

of pigment -

awaken

to warmth on my cheeks.

So the color spreads,

it widens

and it bends

(it morphs)

emotion is a seasonal exchange

withered,

and

both

wild

and

styled.

I don't fear it,

I let it blend together

and give

creation.