Sutros at Midnight

Washed upon my dress
lifted, worn and pale
a spray of blue or seafoam
caught the eucalyptus breeze-
a zephyr of your breath.
I clambered up the cliffs in heels
you chased in boots, laughing
and caught my hand, spun
a dangerous midnight chase.
CliffHouse, ruins, seaside
you in your ambition
stole sixteen years of purity
in one consuming gaze.
Beneath the watercolored moon
you pressed emeralds, gold into my palm
folded me into your arms
and beneath your black coat I found
a sure and steady warmth.


In dreams
memories announce their identity
without words.
Color is louder than voice
and shades are indelible
as emotion.
In the dreams of my youth
New York was a song
and the minutes of the day
changed their lyrics,
and never repeated them.
The freedom to see clearly
was my wild and uninhibited dance,
and I saw clearly
that there was only beauty.
In wakefulness,
I've viewed distinct shades of night
creep across my folded hands
repeat a simple verse
and take away
my voice


His eyes were a shade I'd never seen before.
They shone out against the paper mask, a kind yet glassy copper-brown reflecting orbs of radiating white that shown down in tear-inducing sheets. The lights were far too bright. I inhaled and felt it rattle within me, a mechanical lifeform, my lungs withering with some unnatural strain. Panic. These were not my own. I fought to speak and felt consciousness slip, the grasp a silk thread on my tongue. A word! It rose dry in my worthless throat, azure, indigo, cobalt, kyanos, see me! I slipped further, faded to a blur. Brown eyes froze, stepped towards me and took my hand, pressing my fingers to his palm. Tilting his eyes to my face, he revealed his voice to me as sirens filled the room.
'Blue,' he said addressing white coats, bodies filling spaces, honey to my soul, the word
'and blue
Means she's not breathing'