I listen to the ballads of my blue mind
and think of you.

You are in the taste of blotted lipstick
on the lip crests of my morning.
You are the swift stroke and new razor
greeting the rough-hewn stubble of my face.
You are every drop of wet
in the shower of memory.

I sense you in a hesitant touch
as Tom Waits voice fingering my emotions
and I tremble and reach for you in my mind.

I think of fall wheat
and dream of our children
running ragged over the rough land
with dusk falling in a curtain of reds.
I sense you in a summer air of sweat
and heats frustration at cool evening.
You are in every knot of strained muscle
and every stretch and every stroke
in the oil of my trade.

You are in every eye of brown
and the secret of its color
with the captivity of my lonesome thought.
You are on the tip of my tongue
and the dry crease of my lips.
You are forever.

• color
• lips
• lipstick
• wet