Until the hankerchief of history covers us with its
Times new roman black and white post script, I will wear
Lavender shirts in yellow painted public restrooms,
Looking like art decco in my September complexion
And red against blue skies,
And have those pictures taken to be proof
Against the dull mood of your highschool history teacher that we wore color,
That we distributed the seeds of dead dandilions
In the cement surrounded city parts,
That we let our skin soak up the sun despite the advice of modern science,
That we sometimes wore our hair long and let it curl
And never combed it or put it in braids,
That we taught ourselves to play the pots and pans
So that we would have something honest to dance to,
Something soulful to sing to,
And sometimes we had trouble seeing past our own reflections in the bedroom window,
Because it was dark outside,
And the florescents inside left shadows under our chests
And sculpted the torso to look it's Friday night fittest, yeah I'm vain,
There was light here before there wasn't,
And before that there wasn't,
But seagulls still ate shallow water fish,
Morning boys still cast tall shadows
And all the while the stars are slowly separating.
