Her Name Is Synesthesia

--Her Name is Synesthesia -- I imagine color so vivid leaving those lips-- as if a doorway to another dimension. Each hue a photon fingerprint; appearing in this moment a manifestation-- lovely, serene, glowing. The visible spectrum of your soul dancing like willows in mid September. Green goddess of dawn strolling throughout the night sky; forest hiding its identity; snow covered and silent-- horizon bursting into flames a million miles away; mere abbreviations of you. Shimmering foam gliding across the shoreline before retreating back home-- I long for such dedication. Where have you been? During the tens of thousands of circles the clock hands ran while I sat as a delphinium missing the sun in December. While needles surf my skin carving among this canvas I can only wonder-- daydream and decipher; Yes, I remember.