Blue: He Loved me Blue

I met him in high school,
watched him play basketball and hockey,
cheat off my English exams,
copy my essays.
He'd take the school bus home with me,
lead me into my bedroom,
take off my jean jacket,
hold me at my elbows,
pinch me until I was almost bruised,
stare at me,
run his hands over my back,
his fingers at my bra,
pull off his shirt,
pull off mine,
and we would circle one another,
shy, cold in the winter chill of my room.
Smiling, pale blue sky out the window,
in his eyes,
turquoise rivers of blue
criss-crossing my breasts,
my back against indigo bed sheets,
soft flannel against my calves.
I would hook my feet
on either side of the mattress,
close my eyes,
my breath against his neck,
wings against my lungs,
behind my eyes, azure fluttering,
cobalt in his mouth.
Blue.
He loved me blue.

© Heather Simeney MacLeod