Hues
I would’ve lived on
in a life composed of shades—
Black, white, and million kinds of gray.
Pulsing hearts rarely made sense
when even blood was
the shade of cooled cement.
That’s why you’re a mystery—
Your eyes are vibrant, water dancing
in a grace I cannot name.
They look like celestial crystals—
like if heaven has a shape;
Your hair warm, like autumn
before wind grows chilly.
It reminds me of maple leaves
I inked to seal fall’s harmony;
Your smile stirs—something
in my paralyzed soul.
Like a gentle thunderstorm,
but instead of rain you leave petals.
The camellias caress every
fiber on my skin, the electricity—
Then I knew:
You are color.
You are poetry.
You are the flustered butterfly
whom I felt across the sea.
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