Secrets. They are tinted. Like smoke, they cannot help seductively creeping towards your open lips towards the freedom of exposure. The secrets, they brush against your dancing mouth. They tempt you to unlock the gates and set them free. They hover near your hesitant tongue and with their heeled shoes, they dance. “The Shades of Shadows”, they call themselves. The amaranth, the crimson, the folly, the firebrick, the auburn, the burgundy, the terra cotta and the vermilion; they all giggle as they dance along the closed wall of your tortured mouth. Your lips, they are now painted. Your every word is tainted with color. Every purse, every lick, every bite is another stroke of the brush. When you frown, color dribbles down your chin like the juice of sweet pomegranate. When you smile, the red spreads like the prick of water upon a torn piece of paper scribbled with “said” and “thought” and “told” and “loves” and “kissed”, and when your coated, chapped lips twitch with eagerness, you sew them closed. You sew them because the blue smile who passed you that note is not color blind. The blue lips know and they own. You see the cobalt, the cerulean, the turquoise, the azure, the royal, the sapphire, the prussian, the cyan and the midnight spread like cold fire across the grinning face. So when you reach those inviting, chilly tenders, your entire face is painted red. The tinted smoke escapes through the gaps in both of your exposed teeth, and the mischievous color spits itself out. The gates are unlocked, because for the first time you realize the both of you are utterly entranced by the color purple.