#53 To the Radiator Behind the Dance Room

Color me cozy
Color me brown all the way down
From toes to the ceiling
This room is made of oak
Strong and steady
Like the beat of a drum
The hum of the radiator is a lullaby
The chipped lead paint is a story book
The heat a caress
Running its fingers through my hair
Tugging at my consciousness
Color me red
A bright pop
Of pain gained
From loving the heat too much
I can't touch you
But I can feel you
I can see you and your chips
As ready to fall as autumn leaves
And twice as crunchy
Running up and down your side
Like someone kissed you a little too hard
And held you a little too light
Color me white
Like the pole that sits next to you
Streaked with browns
And grays
You are your very own Tricolor
In a country made of melancholy
For you
Truly
I am blue
Baby blue
Blubbering like a child
Because five months later
You were gone
The spot where you radiated rainbows
Was blank