She had blue skin
Leaning toward lilac
it shifted colours often,
yet never mirrored normal.
Her arms were of a color too
rambunctious in their turquoise blaze
but her eyes were just the catch
for nay, no sparkling lagoon.
Where her ocean should have pooled
the eyes were gentle, the warmest shade.
And so did he
But his was a faraway midnight
The peek of fading crickets
A deeper shore of cloudless storms
His arms were sinewed anchors. His eyes
a splintered blast.
Something of reality, but no one ever knew.
He kept it hid
Under hoodies and hackneyed smiles
Rifled his sister’s makeup to recreate
her face he thought he dreamed
and cried his agony to a warm blue sleep each night.
And so did she
But hers was a more acceptable shade
A far less violent silence.
For when she lay against the grass,
Angels fell to gasp through the clouds
that he had never seen
At the pearl white of her new face, a questioning beauty.
They searched for blue
In thoughtless conversations
With their arms slip knot
In unknown misdirections
They looked for worlds to lose themselves
But the sky was never just the right shade of nothing
Their whole life through,
Like artic terns against the desert hurricanes
Pushing against more normal hues.
Embattled and exhausted,
They aged, and crows perched upon their lidless eyes
Then passed right by-
And never knew.
Artistic appropriation: Masks, by Shel Silverstein & The Archeologists, The Two Masks, by Giorgio de Chirico