By Kim

I can taste the blonde in her hair
speak orange to the warning of her lips
smell yellow from her environment
she didn’t notice me listening to the red around her heart
But I saw the halo of purple all around us
her feet shifted with the quickness of white
and I felt the brown in her touch
though metaphorically speaking, she may have meant to make me feel pink
The blue crept into her eyes
and I tried to return a matching red but only green emerged
she could tell I was struggling
so we both opted for black

Kim, a.k.a. The B word Poet is a 29-year-old bisexual writer and activist in Cleveland, Ohio. (www.shewrites.com/profile/TheBWordPoet)

Related Articles

Love Punch

By Jennie Harper I was 39 when I learned how to make a proper fist. “I know,” I protested as my date adjusted my hand. “The thumb goes on the outside.” But my father only passed down part of the protection. The thumb must also wrap around the middle bar of knuckles,...

read more

Imbalances

By Sara Collie I am 10 or 11, navigating some pre-teen cusp of selfhood when the question rises up, engulfs me, troubling that long sunstroked lunch outside the Cornish pub under the looming cliffs where I watch the waitress tuck her hair neatly behind her ears,...

read more