Blue

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A blue shirt matches

Your spider veins; lapis lazuli

Beads in broken down skin.

Even the sky matches the mood,

Dark, darker, inky ceramic pots

Kept aside for special nights.

There is a fire in your hands,

Blood warmed by cold flame,

Not dulled, but simmering,

Fingers reaching out to the highest

Elusive branches of wet trees,

Coloured in desire, the drip drop

Pellets merge with your skin,

Like a famous painting; whirls

Of agony and ecstasy

Brushed away with lonesome sighs,

Spun like stars with each new longing.

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