The Colors of Brown

Milk chocolate bars forgotten inside cars

On a sizzling summer day.

A mahogany table on those days when they are able

To sit around it to pray.

Sprinkled chips of moles on your skin as you grow old

That you cannot keep at bay.

Stained reddish copper of her leather-bound book cover

In which she writes all she can’t say.

Shiny new glow of your loved viola bow

When sounds of you can guide the way.

And the worst one of all - the one for which she had to fall -

The one that hates to stay:

Warm embrace for which she sighs, the unclear abyss of your eyes,

With which her heart you slay.

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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