He was black when I met him, black as they come, with a streak of red running throughout his system. Knighting his way through packaged, portable, sustained through the jugular of inhaled toxins. When he wanted to, he would turn electric blue for the fun of seeing the reactions. It was a game to see who could change first, how many would notice us, and how much we can keep before replacements were necessary. It was the toe tip in the pool of maturity where we jumped, hands clasped to the sparkle of rustic green and midnight blue . It was the stroke of adrenaline that conjured a strange curiosity. He was dusty pink with bruises that still look new and rain soaked beanies because he liked the texture dancing against his skin. He was gold with concert tickets and pale lemon with in a repertoire of a particularly unproductive day as the grandfather clock softly chimes half past. He was a grey that could not refute the gripping stares and critical tones. He was bubbling orange when he gave me an organ malfunctioning scare, steeping its way to sand the density of my bone, curve by curve and mineral by mineral. He was black when I met him, black as they come, concealing a treasure chest of sheltered palettes in a body teetering on the shores of childhood and maturity. I can't wait to start painting the beaches where you and I collide.
