she had switchblade eyes
and left love notes in a high anxiety font
black was her favorite texture
she hated gold , but loved her silver
and that little mother of pearl thing she picked up in mexico
her hair was long
and hard to tame
I knew her true color
the scent lingering
her bed was plush
a place to cry her dreams
as she would read to me
from russian novels
while I played spanish guitar
then she would pause
and light a cinnamon candle
a votive glint in her aqua eyes
she curled by my side
we touched
May , it was the beginning of summer
copyright 2011 Robin Christopher Amaral