KALEIDOSCOPE

She is pink tonight. I want to watch her. I hide in an alley across the street from her, and press myself against the building's brick wall. I peep around its corner, and under the white street light I see her, oooooo she's pink tonight. I was green in my coming to the spot. I now want to act red, and become red. To mingle with her pink, to merge with her pink, and set this night on fire, burn a hole straight through to the morning. I see us laying exhausted beneath the hole's flaming edges. The only thing that could stop me tonight is a woman who's black. A woman that is black can stop me in my tracks, for she is rare as a diamond that is black, and if I see a woman who is black, I will have to forego burning through the night, because truth be told I can act, but am not actually much red. Nor am I oft green. I am naturally blue. Most invariably blue. Women the air black, move me to my blue core. Women that are black allow me to be blue. I prefer to be my natural blue rather than a bold red, or an energetic orange, rather than a nieve yellow.
Look at this woman who is yellow, blocking my view of the carnally stimulating woman that is pink. I wish she would move her yellow from the woman's pink, because her yellow is ruining the feeling. By some cognitive power I manage to move the yellow woman, her phone rings and she walks away to take the call. I can see the lady pure pink again. Her phone rings. She pulls it from her oversized hanging bag. She says hello then listens for a long while. As she listens I notice her shoulders drop. I see her mouth fall open, her eyes intensify by several degrees as if she's tryng to understand something unfathomable. I see her mouth the word "but", before flipping her phone shut and looking up from wherever that conversation had taken her. Then the weight of her entire body shifts downward straining her sexy high heels. She's no longer pink. Damn! I imagine that someone has canceled on her , and I expect her to turn either red and burn through the night with a yellow, perhaps the yellow that had momentarily blocked my view, or another red, which would be something I'd like to watch. She doesn't change the way I expect though. Instead of turning red, she turns black. She turns black as the smell of pure earth after a rain. She had been playing pink, for no doubt someone who preferred pink women.I feel ashamed. Ashamed of my intent to feign red, and ashamed of my reluctance to be the blue that I am, and of falling lackidaisically into green. She whom I moments earlier had marked as prey, now made me feel unworthy of her. I immediately move from the corner of the building, now feeling silly and purile for ever having watched her from there. Tonight I am inspired to be completely honest. I cross the street with the stride of a blue person, and greet the black woman.