Sit down beside me, here on the floor and bring your palette and your paint.
Take my feet and cover them in sap green so that they merge with the undergrowth, with the things that spread out and take root. So that my toes wriggle in the earth and feel the soil seep in-between them.
Take my legs and cover them in opera rose, let the paint coat my limbs like a small girl’s tights. And she doesn’t care about the luminous colour because she’s bright and loud and free. Colour my legs until they run helter-skelter down the road with no concerns.
Take my abdomen and cover it in alizarin crimson, remind it of when it would flow, when blood signalled life, when it held and it pulsed and became.
Take my breasts and cover them in cerulean, calming and restful, a soothing blue to feed and sustain, to remind them of the nurturing. Paint them and feel oxytocin flood.
Take my face and cover it in brilliant yellow, let it be vibrant and glow so that it lights up the room, so that rays burst out in sunshine.
Take my hair and coat it in orange lake deep so that I look like a punk, so that I look like I used to when my hair was short and spiked, when I wore a zebra print dress and didn’t care.
And my orange hair will spill out across the floorboards in rivulets, ideas and plans and possibilities tumbling out, soaking the wood with unbounded thoughts and dreams.
Take your palette and your gouache and cover all this grey then wash your brush out in my water and sit beside me on the floor.