Yellow

Written: 2012-2013 x Edited: 2024

I remember watching you speak to me in ink
so you wouldn’t slur your words,
wasting hours until the strangers we called acquaintances left, maybe
winding their way home, maybe not,
and we stumbled up the wooden stairs to your room.
You stared at me as I took off your shirt
but not my tie,
slowly mouthing words against my lips I couldn’t understand
until the white walls you’d pressed me up against
were gone, and I didn’t know where we were
or what I was doing.
I think I said something about the leaves falling
against your window,
then you twisted my arm behind my back and broke it in three places,
and what once was eloquence now met my ears with the ironic taste of blood
brushed across plaquened teeth;
yellow like your favorite flowers.
The ones you hung out to dry.