You can sit
by a green river
drink green beer,
share stories about kissing
the Blarney Stone
or four-leaf clovers
found in a field of green
stretching on and on and on
like the depth of your green eyes
luring me in with unspoken words of love,
words I know I can change, feelings
you (a master of manipulation) hide,
create lies to cover up your change of heart.
When I look deep enough, I see a faint spark
lurking in those green eyes.
It calls to me, begs for me
to pull it out from places deep within,
the light before a train appears
in a tunnel-vision mind,
the spark I know is there
but you let die that day in March
green became the color of my skin.