Your Breath Has Many Colors

Your breath has many colors,
Brown, certain and firm,
Like the park tree
I saw yesterday
On my morning walk,
Sometimes too sure
Of itself, if you ask me.
But, then again, your breath turns pink,
Lightheaded, forgetful
As my grandmother,
Who once found her teeth
In the trunk of her car.
You’ve been known
To go all red on me,
Screaming as obvious
As the blazing sun
I can see out our
Window this morning.
Then swooning into
Your violet breath,
All sensual and elegant
After your third glass
Of Dom Perignon,
Asking me if God
Lives in both of your breasts
Or just favors one.
Your green breath is my favorite,
For it is the grass
Where I can rest my old naked body
On a summer afternoon in July
When we’re half way through

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