'Palette' by Wendy Newbury

 

Tell me in colors if you can’t say the words, I’m a mustard yellow, a sticky blotch of mess ‘round your white coffee cup; tell me here in this moment what you’d prefer, perhaps a splash of red and I will swirl the orange you’ve been after; tell me our love is no longer violet, deep afterglow sky, soft rain kissing windows, handwritten notes left by the kitchen sink; tell me you want an evergreen start, a redo, your beginning; tell me this is the end, that I’m now last season’s shades of Love in New York and you, Faded Love; tell me all the things that made me choose you, like when you said I’m your sunrise palette, your ocean blue and golden ray, white sea foam waves; tell me, tell me quick before it all turns grey.