Yellow Crayon

In the art gallery where sharp-edged women stop their strides abruptly before famous paintings ... of colored squares- In discussions of a novel, where sex is not exactly sex, only a metaphor we squint eyes at eachother across wooden tables, desperate to see- In conversation, where the surety I felt for you has faded to an ache across my ribs, faint, but still not nothing- In a shape-shifting world where I am taught the shades of subtleties in the tipping-forward of a smile, skin striking skin, and red against blue, I only want to be white on white, a small child with a red hair-ribbon frantically scribbling smiles in bright yellow crayon.