The backlit curtain hung behind your head,
and there some seeping neon blurringly bled
into purple and pink lightly designed,
in the street, by a blue and purple shop sign;
but what was more eye-catching was you;
hair lit in its loops; sitting up in your bed;
not a silhouette, less dark than the bedroom.
Watching the Democrats’ National Debate
on your phone, tired because you got home late
from work, your face took the pearly census
of the convention hall’s distant fluorescence.
I saw the banners’ blue valence your ears,
I saw ties in Las Vegas-shade rose abate
on your nose and resume their hue in your beard.