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PINK
It was
her
color
inside out, upside down
so that we envied her perfect attunement
to its every shade and shadow
it was the shine of her eye that none of us could reproduce
something that spoke of
ribbons, teddy bears,
perfect children and
thong underwear
hidden where mothers could never see
it was the magnetism about her
textbook quality
glossed so as to look professional when we all knew
she wasn't
that
rich, really
we just forgot sometimes.
It was
her
color
and she had it wrapped around her little finger, smotheringly tight
matching her as though manufactured together
two for the price of one
it never made her immaculate
but flawed in all the right ways
enticing
so that they stumbled over their own feet, haphazard
while we watched
ugly green with envy
mumbling our discontent
it was the airiness of her beauty
pastel frosting
squashing our hearts into distorted fortune cookies
not even worthy to be a second-rate bake sale
contribution
beside her strawberry cakes
no, she was
not
perfect
but she sure made it seem that way.
It was
her
color
light as roses
steamy as magazine lip gloss on a summer day
while we lay on vaguely dissatisfying rumpled sheets
dreaming of things forbidden
and biting our tongues to wonder what she was doing
it was the mystery of her life
that she would find a moment like romantic sunrise, cool and clear and sugary
to break her every promise
undo lace and belt and button--
all fashionable, of course
nothing less
and go out pure as the dawn
lonesome
it was her curse, too, for they said
even her blood
ran a little lighter than normal
sweet dyed lemonade
and we found we didn't really care so much
for angelic impermanence
after all, it was
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