Purple
The shelves of your forehead wrinkles
are still undusted. I scrub them clean with hot tears,
carefully placing selected stories
on the continuum between you and me.
I twine our joint years around your neck,
covering you with Wisteria flowers.
In that royal coat I make you believe
there are no blue and red granules
in our blood.
(This poem is from Eleni's pamphlet Autumn Dedications, 2015)
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