Before he left, she offered a box of light
a spectrum of color against his black;
red scraped from her pulsing veins
orange plucked from her sunset sky
yellow combed out from her morning hair
green cut from the edge of her irises
blue pulled from the song in her ears
indigo peeled from her darkest night
and violet picked from her truest words.
She tied them with her blind-heart kisses
and let him steal her rainbowed sky.
Let him pour them out into his grays—
let him remember her only in this way.
First published in The Bastille.