the color of the package you left at my home,
From hand-written addresses to the color of boxes,
And every label was
the color of the tags you stuck on the items,
the color of my shirt when we met to listen to a jazz band,
The hue of my heart and teeth,
But yours was
the color of a heart willing to embrace
Not innocence but wounds, wounds
of something irreversible
The color of warmth
the color of our sweaters when we met at the airport.
the color of our love
the color of envy now that others will envelop and
My split love for you.
Happy Birthday, A.