by Amy Soricelli
Blue is still blue when it is buried deep in the colored shells on the shore;
the midnight sky peeks its colored stone stars across your sandy toes.
I would take you to the beach in a cloud.
Blue is still blue when the lucky loopy sounds of your stringy guitar plays hard against
the backdoor slips of your last kiss me you said....
I could raise your head to the end of the sky you would see me peeking up from down.
I could not carry the colored weight of the world in my single hand.
There are too many colors of love.
But blue is still the blue of your eyes.
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I very much enjoyed this, Amy. Should it have reminded me a little of Bob Dylan?
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