By: Emma Zwickel

I wake up in the night,

the empty shadow

of your body sprawled

across mine

and I wonder

and I wonder

when did the bad take over the lovely and

when did we flee the sacred temple of

“the pain will wash over us someday

once we find there is strength in

sobriety of the heart.”

I remember you were well-versed in color

while I showed promise

in reciting the absence of it;

you asked me once,

“how can a poet write in only black and white” and I looked you straight in the eye

when I replied,

“there is beauty in the simple,

in the plain wilderness of filtered oceans

and golden horseshoes that can

still be just as lucky shaded in grey.”

Perhaps you were prone to only seeing in hue,

and I, graced with colorblindness

and I wonder

and I wonder

if the takeover of our love had to do more with

shimmering blues blackened by dirt and dust

or bruises speckled red.

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