I was yours in yellow. In twinkling light.
Barely, but bright enough for me to know
the rouge in your cheeks. Switched off in the night
for you to bask in someone else’s glow.
I was tied to you in yellow. Lemon
shoelaces coming undone easily;
just like the rest of you. Peach to soften
the sharp from my cherry lips discreetly.
I wrote your confessions in yellow. Words
indelible but not quite set in stone.
No scarlet letter. Still, I was absurd
to dream of being branded as your own.
I envy whoever is yours in red.
Love in rouge, with cherry, love that’s branded.
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