She dressed in Cerulean.
Or Azure; Alice or Iris.
Sometimes Palatinate, Periwinkle,
Prussian, Persian, or Phthalo.
But always blue.
I knew the feel of her through her
Traced her lips and bud and cheeks,
and teased Forget-me-not nipples.
Her eyes were Majorelle,
behind Glaucous when I met her,
and Maya after that.
And Duke, for nails and the rims of her glasses.
Her lips liked to pout around an Egyptian vibrator
tongue teasing Teal beads.
Never wore Rose, or Mikado, or Fern.
I saw Harlequin in her wardrobe once,
but there it stayed. She shrugged off Chrome,
and Sacramento State was ignored.
Once I asked, “Viridian?”
and she gave me a creased expression
and brushed me away. It goes,
that our sheets where Columbia.
I pressed her into their watery hue
as we fucked into
our Midnight passion.
And when the sky was painted Powder,
she slid away, Carolina cold,
out of my loving embrace,
and slipped into Crimson knickers.
I looked twice before she left,
covering Lust over with,
of course, doubtless, unquestionable blue,
and was gone into the Royal dawn.
Written for #FuckMeFriday which is hosted by Aisling Weaver. This week’s prompt is #Blue.