if everything were purple
the world would sound like jazz.
smoke would hang from night,
silk ribbons between
conversations.
under the sun,
the city would sweat.
tap water beading from purple brick.
children would play
in improvised rhythms.
and you-
a fiery woman,
both in beauty and temper-
i would love you anyway.
because i would be a smooth talker
and you would be purple and worth it.
outside of this-
the scorching prairie wave.
yellow gusts would run their fingers
through the grain and
cool our spot
beneath the purple shade of
a plum tree.
fresh nectar
would dance in streams on your tongue,
drip happily from the corners of your
soft laughter.
dusk would shine a pink sky
on lazy living
our smiles sounding purple like jazz.
