The Colors of Love

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.