A color just barely there,
A color that's soft and sharp and tastes of stars,
A color that stands for sophistication,
A color for ballgowns and silk ribbons and shimmer along her cheekbones.
A color that resides in the clouds just before sunset, and right after dawn.
It glazes the inside of a seashell with a pink-cream shade
that brings to mind lazy afternoons and the classiest rebellion imaginable.
Small tarts thrown at the person across the table,
Flowers stripped of petals, which are thrown up, only to drift down like snow.
And laughter, so much laughter.
It bubbles up out of nowhere, taking you by surprise and suddenly
You're racing through the trees, heels and hats left behind,
Feet bare, smiles wide, hair streaming behind you, banner-like.
And then, a great collapse on the forest floor,
And heaving breaths,
And faces turned towards the late afternoon sun.