No.

It was said softy, almost comically, twice.

It was unnecessary because I already knew

Blue and black and gold can never live in harmony, that bit was obvious

Common knowledge.

It’s funny, though, you find brown and orange and white

And no one blinks.

If something flickers, it needs to be fixed

What if I flicker?

Yes?

Yes.

No, I’ll only close my eyes.

I turned on the dark and chose inside jokes

It was magic, it made sense

They were lonely

I was too, was that supposed to be funny?

Don’t drink

They laughed as wine burned deep red in their eyes

And passed me a bottle

Of chartreuse liquid, I didn’t ask

It tasted like petroleum and acidic avocado seeds

Of course, whispered an old lady in pink slippers

I didn’t speak, only knew, and drank what I understood to be limeade.

I loved it.

I don’t love.

Maybe you.

You told me you liked smooth rooftops and big clouds and close-toed sandals

Your statements were always purple.

Sometimes I trusted purple, sometimes I didn’t

Are you the truth, darling?

The sun burns until the air smells like burgundy

The water turns a deep, acid green

I always liked olive green.

But I learned that water always wants to stick to itself

I admire that.

Some things don’t stick, like how I don’t love and

I loved to read and  

Second-person point of views are always so impersonal

Some things are always the second people.

How to listen to a favorite song?

Tell me that you closed your eyes and let the

Weight of everything collapse in a cacophony of

Birds.

They are always on the intersecting railroad tracks

With tiny Velcro purses, in my mind.

I cross my heart, I cross my arms, I cross my eyes

I live across from everything, I suppose.

I always suppose.