8/5/17 3:27pm
Fool’s Gold

She comes in drenched in rain,
teal hair, my hair, bleeding rivers down the front of her white shirt.
Her sister’s shirt.
Bleeds green-blue hurt down the transparent wet cotton.
The boys pretend not to look.
She’s giggling aquamarine, a messy scene of drips,
tripping on lsd.
Her scattered fractals of vermilion tongue makes blood run
Venetian
Pumping wine from a candy apple heart.
She doesn’t fall apart
so often anymore.

Fell in love with the way forest green irises
their limbal ring
looked up at her between tawny legs.
Wrapped up in amethyst visions of a brighter future,
one to suit her
more than the places that left scars.
She’s wondering where you are,
asks about your porcelain mouth and what it’s doing;
Where it’s been.

She is amber shoulders in the warmth,
climbing waterfalls and leaping from onyx rocks
scraping the soles of her feet.
Her locks are blonde and tangled now,
still dripping,
highlights in the sun
strands of Pyrite.
She’s always been a fool,
with a heart of gold.