Dark blue is cold. Red is
a clotted blood coat I wear
sometimes, at night. I pull it on,
half awake and curl
down into cool sheets.
The blood burns my shoulders,
sticks around my chest while
the rest, black, slides away,
slippery with the worst words,
falling onto the sheets.
In those hours between
day and night, I wake with
wet eyes. Dark is quiet, friendly
sounds of breathing. The coat
evaporates in gray;
the drowsy return of sleep.
