Colour: A Poem

When he shows up at my door with a dozen roses it is the colour of my lips.

When my cheeks flush it is the colour of his calm confidence, and the glint in his eyes of a man who you can never truly know or trust.

It is the countless nights spent sharing the same sheets tangled in one another like vines or destined lovers.

And when I gingerly place my palm over his heart it is the colour that comes to the surface as my fingers trail like a sentence.

It is the numerous punches and insults hurled at one another like comets falling out of orbit, or angels falling from grace.

It is the bruises my family and friends point out as I pulled down my sleeves and put on dark sunglasses.

When he sees me in the bedroom packing my things it is the colour of his breath.

When he smashes the bathroom mirror it is the colour that threatens to seep through his fingers and onto the tile.

When I try to scream at the top of my lungs, it is the wild look in his eyes.

When my vision blurs under his grasp it is the colour of my slowing pulse.

When he looks at me in the eyes for the last time it is the colour of my suitcase disappearing down the road.

It’s not what I feel when I look at our old photographs.

Sterling, 2018