if i give you the colors and the brush, can you paint me in your head?
A red silk scarf that billows and snaps
Upon a black background, cryptic as the truth,
Lit from behind by a spotlight of amber clarity.
The fabric unfurls depths of crimson abstruseness
Then curls back on itself, hiding the secrets away
But still waving and dancing in the current, nay,
The wake of your carefree turbulence