Dusty Lavender

I’d say it was purple, but violet garners greater reverence and deeper imagery. So violet is the color she wore, or rather it wore her. It lived on her, swam in the carefree rivers of her silken skin and slumbered on the covers of her eyes. Her body gave violet body, her character gave violet character, her breath made it breathe, her speech made it speak and it spoke directly to me in words that I could only understand on the very inside of myself. She called it dusty lavender tonight, so that now dusty lavender is folded up on a make believe handkerchief and in my front shirt pocket close to my beating heart.