all the colours we've spilt.

RED

carmine sky swallows the canary sun
whole – you told me that the wine
went warm hours ago. lost in a haze
between the blush on your cheeks
and the amaranth of your lips that
scream innocence into the void;
we decided that the merlot was next
to be drunk. silence, the charming
uninvited guest speaks on our behalf
as we twiddled our fingers idly,
preoccupied with candying our words.
your eyes shine mahogany in the
wilting sun set to the evening song
of the cardinals. red was the
marooning of regret.

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ORANGE

you fold peaches into the whipped papayas,
mentioning that the apricots we bought were
much too tart for your liking, but the melons
were just fine. the kettle whistles and i stir to
brew the rose-tea, as you contentedly eat your
breakfast. your eyes catch the tangerine rays
and glisten like a tiger’s eye stone, you break
the silence with mention of the pumpkin-patch
and how i promised to take you there. wouldn't
it be sweet to distill the tang of this moment
into honey? orange was the bittersweet shimmer
of autumn.

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YELLOW

you stain the air with lemons, as i hand you
the yolks, and whip the mixture of honey
and egg-whites into canary soft-peak
over the double boiler before moving
it to the stand-mixer. you tie up your
xanthic and goldenrod locks, noting
that the filing looks like gold. i agree.
in this moment, i felt like a drunken
bumblebee sitting next to a crackling
fire, drinking amberish mead with
daffodils aplenty. yellow was the
beckoning of buttery realizations.

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GREEN

when the days lose their neon and no longer
smell of mint, you will be laureled amongst
jade, emerald and malachite. i let your words
seep into the mug of green-tea, watching it
go from chartreuse to olive, wondering if
if it would ever grow to taste bitter.
i liken your words to basil –
the forest of anxiety dwell in,
would be unripened tomatoes that
ripen to your ethylene touch.
green was the squeezing of lime
into tequila.

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BLUE

lakeshore pier was ideal for cloud watching;
with the electric sky bleeding into turquoise,
the navy-blue water turned prussian with
every tumultuous wave. midnight strikes,
and the clouds are dyed indigo. with nothing
to do, we powder our words and cast it
into the lake, hoping somehow, some way
it turns into sapphires. blue was gazing
into your irises for answers when your
lips offered none.

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INDIGO

indigo was the stirring of your tropical
depression into hurricanes, with no
respite between.

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VIOLET

the wisteria that grows in the midst of
mallows and lavenders out back
was our favourite; we both agreed
that it was the weeping willow of flowers –
the perfect encapsulation of lament.
you drop a handful of grapes in
the sangria, stirring thoughtfully.
we take a sip and come into bloom
like orchids. violet was clutching
amethyst and getting black-out
drunk.

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written as a mini collection, a long while back.