when he opens his mouth,
i can't help but stop hearing his words,
and focus instead on the pale orange
spreading through my veins
maybe it looks like a sunset, orange bleeding into red,
affection soaking into my very being.
he's like coffee brown, and
warm, dark, and familiar
and he too, is bitter,
at times, yet so sweet in others,
it inspires a swirl of chocolate tones
that sits in the pit of my gut
seeping into my center.
his smile,
like lemon yellow,
makes my mouth twist on its own to mirror,
feels like sunshine and happy,
and some thing to look forward too.
and maybe I'm a little too rosey pink,
sticking my face into the flowers,
getting pollen up my nose,
but so enraptured but the smell
and not to be discouraged by the thorns
perhaps I am the roses,
and he the beholder.
and maybe it's a little like
beach glass blue,
melancholic and reminiscent,
or
sail boat white,
eager and excitable,
or maybe even
mossy green,
subdued and relaxed.
i can't quite put my finger on what it was
my heart beating too fast, swirling the hues
like a paint mixer.
and creating a deep brown.
funny,
it reminds me of his eyes.
YOU ARE READING
rise
Poetrythe writings of an unsure individual trying to find himself somewhere in the madness of his mind. tw: self harm, suicide, physical abuse, family stuff, eating disorders, a shit load of negative shit. don't read if you don't like depressing stuff.
