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.
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