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The Color of Time

your eyes are sterling silver grey and your hair is black,
with a few roots peeking through
to match your eloquent eyes
and now your fingernails are painted clear, a far cry
from the days when you would paint them yellow
and call them sunbursts.

your skin is paper left, forgotten,
in desk drawers for a few years too long—yet
still with a sheen of honey blossom warmth
and a touch of cherry red that is your cheeks, round,
and red as the days when you would powder on too much rouge
and go dancing.

your skin shines with the color of time.



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