Maybe one day the smears of paint Harley left throughout Godspeed will fade, and maybe the stars never will, but i'd rather have Harley's colors.
My love is colorful, like a rainbow that’s only shades of blue. Monochromatic for monoamor.
The tatters of old stories are tangled, weathered, muted by long-held silences that succeeded loud feuds, and sometimes no doubt re-dyed a more flattering color.
Nakedness has no color: this can come as news only to those who have never covered, or been covered by, another naked human being.
As far as he could see, the drawings were simply alive. They might be colored earth on rock, but they were as alive as the kangaroo that'd just hopped away.
I almost never respect men. They're like flowers -- all show, a lot of color and lust. You pick them and throw them on the ground.
Hey, our hair's the same color," I said, eying us side by side in the mirror. "Sure is, girlfriend." Eric grinned at me.
But only a person in the depths of despair neglected to look beyond winter to the spring that inevitably followed, bringing back color and life and hope.
She said no to my sexual advances. Makes me wonder if she even knew the seven colors of the rainbow add up to the length of my penis.
Seeing a brightly-colored box, I asked, What’s that? She said nothing. So I said, “Ah, so that’s what silence looks like, huh?”
The plum-colored night sky was shifting to pink to make room for the day, which looked as though it might turn out “glorious and whimsical,” as the Key West Citizen had promised.
The color of the sky was like a length of white chalk turned on its side and rubbed into asphalt. Sanded--that was how the world looked, worked slowly down to no rough edges.
She didn't tell him white folks couldn't love the same as coloreds. She couldn't love the same neither though, cuz more than half of her was white.
There are edges around the black and every now and then a flash of color streaks out of the gray. But I can never really grasp any of the slivers of memories that emerge.
Her fierce and fearful friend --who loved country music and cherry Pop Tarts and singing in public and the color pink, who was terrified of germs and dogs and ladders.
Plus as she put it, Prince Eric was far too hairy and peach colored for her taste. I always thought he was pretty hott, but then again, I am a mammal.
I move onward, through the colors and cheers and music, floating into my future, and it is a clear, open space that stretches wider that the sky and higher than the Andes.
In every motions to put colors on my canvas, I feel like I am screaming, "I AM HERE"... To whom?.. To where?... Where am I going to...?
Teach them that rainbows appear after a storm to remind them that light begins and ends with all colors.
Art shows what's inside. And that's scary. Showing my paintings would be like...like cutting my arm open in front of a crowd and showing them what color I bleed.
What is damage but forcing yourself, memories of yourself, onto someone else? Coloring someone else’s body. In reality, it’s sort of romantic. It’s why we love to hurt each other.
