The Colors of Love

Location

60016
United States
42° 2' 55.878" N, 87° 53' 3.9516" W

It begins when
The innocence of white
Flirts with a tease of pink.
A white dove
Grows strawberry lips.
And soon comes the thirst.
The passion.
A rosy cheek
And burning tongue
A trembling hand
Exploding with affection.
Desiring devotion.
That spark of a touch.
The fire you feel.
It all seems
A bit, just a bit, too much.
The blood of a slow kiss.
A gentle whisper
And a scarlet beat
Of the heart.
The quickening breath.
A hell of heaven
As red, as red
As the blaze of the sun.
A freckle on your skin
Marked by love.

But swiftly,
That burning red
Begins to die.
The ardent sun
Unwillingly sets.
Becoming,
A misty moon.
And so the teardrop falls
On the pillow.
Straight into a pool
Of sorrow.
No red shall be found.
The eerie glow
Of a sad face
The cold fingertips
Bite like disappointment.
A broken mirror
Is just dull glass.
A bluebird
In its nest.
Violently tossed
To and fro
By the wet waves of regret
A sunken shore.
An echo
Of memory
And reverie.
A sadness
Quite miserable;
“It just wasn’t meant
To be.”

A bitter lime.
Murking in a swamp.
Because you want to be.
Because you have to be.
The indignation.
The sour
On your tongue
As you scour the red
In another pair of lovers.
While you’re painted dry
In the pit of your stomach.
The envy.
Spilling revenge
From your olive lips.
Acidic and sharp
Are your words
To anyone who dares
To tell you different.
But with green,
Comes growth.
A change in attitude.
The glow
Of a summer tree.
Leaves in the wind.
A healing cucumber.
The freshness
Of clean cut grass.

And peace.
A simple white cloud
Floating.
Full of air.
Full of life.
A string holding up a kite
Waiting to show its colors.
A newfound
Maturity.
Neutrality.
A fresh respect
For love.
A light in
The mind.
A blank paper
With a message
Waiting to be written.
The sweet meat
Of a coconut.
The silk
Running through your fingers.
The cleansing of the soul.
Reality.
You are ready to love, even if once more.

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