The color of sky

I love the
color of sky
when I spill my blood on it
and see you —
looking at the horizon
you — washing it hard
not to see the red stains
as you try to forget
the smell and the touch
and the sound of sunrise
squeezing your head
whispering again
that it was a mistake
that the candles were scented
and only one bed
and only one step that was left
you remember the taste
of your friend (tastes like wine —
first sour then sweet
yet sweeter and sour again
tastes like blood)
and you say it
again

I’m afraid of fingers
pointing naming defining
what we are
must be will be
afraid
of finding you in my drawers
my letters my dreams
that I wanted to lose
wanted to break
just wanted to wake up
alone
no more castles
no more

Years from now
you’ll have all the words
know the answers
to the questions I haven’t yet phrased
write them on the sky
align left, double-spaced
just above the bright orange line
where the sun goes down
where my traces are
that you couldn’t erase
let the clouds hear you
exhale

Wasn’t me then, remember?
wasn’t us
couldn’t have fooled
the mirror
couldn’t have said
whispered thought
what you hadn’t yet read
in my mind
couldn’t have broken
your world
how could you believe?
wasn’t me
wasn’t us
wasn’t

It was
in the room
filled with plans
in the nights
filled with talks
in the cafes filled with smoke
in the lobby filled with silence
in your eyes filled with sorries
Saw it then
saw it coming
the time
to go home

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I love the
color of sky
clean washed-out and blue
when I know that the blood
will be there
tomorrow
again