When You Told Me I Am a Happy Person
.
Even though my tears were still clinging to your fleece shirt,
I did not argue,
any more than I would argue
with the strands of blonde
the morning has threaded into my hair.
.
My lips are bruised
from trying to shape my darknesses into names,
but on the sunless mornings I want to sleep through,
there is still you,
kissing me awake.
.
I shift with weather,
like water, holding shadow and light,
reflecting every sort of day,
stained with the colors
of whatever is closest.
.
I did not argue
because it is true
when you say it,
three hairs’ length
from my face.