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  • Writer's pictureMiguel Machado

Blue in Green

Limbs spill out of

thin mist colored sheets,

like blues pouring from

brass ringed depths.

Before pain was words it was sound,

it was obscured sunsets and

rain jumping off windows.

It was leaving you in the morning,

footsteps accompanied by

still sleeping breaths.

It still is.

No matter if them angry words

stuck in your teeth.

If sometimes them boys

step out the past

to wander naked through your mind.

If the unset bone of my hurt

sometimes scratches at the corners

of your eyes.

Your body plays a blues that sings inside me.


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