I told myself 

I’d call you with something meaningful to say. 

That maybe if I wished hard enough you’d answer and I could listen to your stupid voice again 

and laugh at all the things I never found funny.

I also told myself that I’d forget you. 

In some ways I guess I have.

For instance,

I cannot remember the color of your eyes. 

I’m not calling to say I’m proud of this.

I called because I hoped you would answer so I could ask you. 

It seems I’ll have to work this out on my own...

I know 

Blue is much too vivid 

And brown is much too dull.

And I know

Amber was too fierce

And gray was too reserved.

And I want to know

But I don’t know

And yet somehow

When I close my eyes at night

Your eyes are always staring back at me

In some messed up black and white photo

Framed by your thin lenses and

In the blink of an eye

It all becomes blurred.