What Colors the Steel Sky Blue

Shredded and shed, she a restless blur
ruptures the sheath of my years past
and becomes my reason to forget.

She, the flourescent yellow highlighter,
drawn under every line in every book,
stares on into my toddler eyes.

She, the subject of every truth and dare game,
wants me to play with her heart, and break it.

As I cunningly calculate her demise,
a bank account accumulates the sum of her first tears.

She questions on while I lie on my back
with no coherent reasons for what I have done.

Without a powerpoint presentation to save my ass,
in that meeting room where my destiny is sealed
I sit in my chair quietly waiting for the judgement to air,
yet the channels keep changing,
but the news she and I are expecting never comes on.

She, a restless twitch in my perfect reflection
with the lipstick smudged around the edges,
tells me what's right and I listen on.

Within the firm grasp of her arms
I am taken to the awkward beginning.
Her perfume is an untold story,
her scarf a sea of silk crashing in my face.
Her necklace leaves a red outline in my neck.
Soon her body wraps itself around me like a snake of love.

I give in to what has arrived at my door.
Though no one is knocking, I can hear her breathing.

Troy James Vega
May 2002