My eyes drift the yonder of the colours after a rain, the sun shines through as thought compares love
to a
rainbow.

As if that was even possible

RED FIRST WOUND
Love begins like a wound unsealed
a **** of red across the sky,
wine spilled on white sheets,
lipstick bitten raw in the dark
it bleeds, it burns, it brands the soul.
Every whispered “I love you” tastes like copper,
tongues tangled in battle,
fingers tracing ribs like counting the cost,
a sunrise seething through storm clouds.

ORANGE FEVER DREAM
Love is heat, wildfire spreading
the citrus sting of desire peeled open,
the heatwave of hands that refuse to part,
persimmons soft and begging to be devoured.
Sunset drapes over shoulders like silk,
breathless, gasping, golden embers in a dying fire,
a hunger so bright it melts the spine,
a fever so high the body forgets its name,
collapsing into the glow of something holy.

YELLOW GUILT & GLORY
Love is bright, love is blinding
the glint of gold on trembling fingers,
a sunflower field drowning in its own sun.
The laugh like honey and waxed dripped over broken glass,
syrupy sweet tantalizing tastebuds but destined to crack.
Its comparable to sharp sting of jealousy, the fire of rage
the taste of lightning before the storm,
the smell of fresh cut grass,
a crown heavy with devotion,
a promise made in the shadow of doubt,
glistening in the distance.

GREEN DEVOUR & REGROW
Love is wild, overgrown and tangled
vines crawling through ribcages,
ivy winding around ankles, pulling you under.
The scent of rain on moss-covered skin,
the ache of a lover’s absence like abandoned roots.
It is the jealousy of spring for summer,
the slow, reluctant regrowth after ruin,
the murky depths of wanting too much,
an orchard of hands grasping for something forbidden.

BLUE DROWNING IN YOU
Love is deep, too deep, uncharted
the cold of a midnight confession,
saltwater tears licking the lips of the lost.
Oh can you taste it,
Fingertips pressing into the tide,
swallowed whole by the weight of longing.
Ocean rush past but what is left,
It is the hush of hands clenching the past,
A face that looks forward with eyes sewn to the back of one's head,
The needle ******,
the drowning gasp of “stay,”
the reflection of a face no longer your own,
the endless stretch of sky that will never be held.
As you left drowning in a storm cloud that lingers.

INDIGO HAUNTED & HOLY
Love is ink smeared across shaking pages,
Dripped between the margins of what we call self,
The confessor and the confessions,
a bruise dark and deep beneath the skin,
a candle flickering against the bones of a cathedral while angels sing a song that there are no words to,
It is poetry carved into collarbones, engraved and cut in deep,
shadows stretching long in the absence of light,
Can you see it ?
Can't you feel it ?
Can you touch the abyss?
a hymn hummed through clenched teeth.
The ghost of fingertips on a locked door,
The key lost forever yet you try to find it,
the question of whether love is prayer or possession, obsession
Never answered with reasonable thought,
a soul bound to another, bleeding violet,
Oh and how it's bleeds.

VIOLET DEATH & REBIRTH
Love is the last breath before surrender,
Gasping trying to lung grab each breath, life or death
the soft violet of a sky that has given up the sun.
Fields of flowers you will never walk within, smell or taste or touch,
only observe from a distance if you lucky
A funeral and a resurrection in the same whisper,
Life longs for laughters edge as you caress the nothing seeking something,
someone,
somehow,
petals crushed beneath careless footsteps,
Foot prints left,
Then erased, then followed
Into a space we no longer recognise
the taste of yesterday of dusk on parted lips.
Lick them and tell me what you really taste
It is the ache of knowing and the bliss of forgetting,
a name held on the tongue like an incantation,
Chant my name, chant for love
the promise that love never fades
only shifts, only shatters, only shines anew.

THE WHITE LIGHT, BLACK HOLE
Break it apart and it’s nothing but fractures,
bend it through glass and it becomes everything.
Love is a prism—raw,
burning, relentless.
Every shade, every wound, every wonder
spilled across the sky,
bleeding into
forever.
Love refracted is everything
Love broken is nothing.

Clock hits five—oh, look alive!
Time to chug, time to dive,
time to drink my last two neurons dead
and dance on the grave of the week I survived.

Boss said "grind," I said "blind,"
sold my soul for nickels and dimes,
but hey—it’s Friday, let’s pretend
that life’s not built on corporate crimes.

The club’s a zoo, the floor’s all glue,
the shots are fire, my liver’s *******,
but better that than sober doom
I’ll take a hangover over servitude.

So praise the Lord, or cash or fraud,
or alcohol or pain ignored,
'cause Monday’s death is Friday’s birth
one more week closer to the dirt.

The air is a buzz of quiet light,
like the hum of moth wings, soft against dark.
Electricity cracks open the sky,
a pulse running through veins of gold and blue,
flickering like the last breath of a fire
scattering sparks over the skin of the world.

In this moment, the earth shakes and breathes in crisp shadows,
while we are lost, dust in our veins, curling into the depths of  each other
a dark shadow of light, a flicker of stolen time,
the silence between us sharp as broken as jagged rocks that the surf washes against.
Here, we are not broken, we are not shattered , we are not destroyed
but bent like light through a light prism,
refracted into infinite pieces
we cannot hold.

Beneath the river's mouth,
the blue moon is a torch
its flames, a dull whisper to the sky.
Phosphors pulse, like ghosts still singing,
their song an echo between the stars
where the universe falls into itself
again and again.

And in the empty spaces between this world and the next,
I hear the wind carry whispers
of things I have yet to say
sweet against the ache of silence,
spinning through the dark like forgotten names
long lost to time’s hunger.

The light dies quietly,
but something of it remains
like the taste of honey on a tongue
that knows nothing but ash.

Time catches its breath,
waiting for the sky to remember
what it once was,
before it was just air and dust.
Before it was just a ghost,
walking the line between becoming
and nothing at all.
The air is a buzz of quiet light,
like the hum of moth wings, soft against dark.
Electricity cracks open the sky,
a pulse running through veins of gold and blue,
flickering like the last breath of a fire
scattering sparks over the skin of the world.

In this moment, the earth shakes and breathes in crisp shadows,
while we are lost, dust in our veins, curling into the depths of  each other
a dark shadow of light, a flicker of stolen time,
the silence between us sharp as broken as jagged rocks that the surf washes against.
Here, we are not broken, we are not shattered , we are not destroyed
but bent like light through a light prism,
refracted into infinite pieces
we cannot hold.

Beneath the river's mouth,
the blue moon is a torch
its flames, a dull whisper to the sky.
Phosphors pulse, like ghosts still singing,
their song an echo between the stars
where the universe falls into itself
again and again.

And in the empty spaces between this world and the next,
I hear the wind carry whispers
of things I have yet to say
sweet against the ache of silence,
spinning through the dark like forgotten names
long lost to time’s hunger.

The light dies quietly,
but something of it remains
like the taste of honey on a tongue
that knows nothing but ash.

Time catches its breath,
waiting for the sky to remember
what it once was,
before it was just air and dust.
Before it was just a ghost,
walking the line between becoming
and nothing at all.

Shall I compare thee to a rose,
or to the weight of autumn leaves falling,
each one a memory you couldn't let go?
You, a shadow cast by daylight,
your love, like rain, falls once and never returns.
Fourteen years, you said—
but I count you in the breathless space
between now and forever.
I never stopped listening to the silence,
never stopped calling your name
where it echoed against the walls of a cracked sky.

You were the wound and the cure,
a garden where flowers bloomed, but never grew.
Your love like a fire,
flickering in the wind,
burning me up,
but never enough to warm the bones
of what we could have been.
You held the past like glass,
its edges sharp and unforgiving,
breaking whenever I reached for it.
I reached, but you always pulled away,
like the ocean pulling back from the shore,
leaving nothing but the taste of salt.

I could have been the song you sang
when your heart knew no words.
But you played my love like a broken harp as the sharp needle, slowly cutting grooves into your favorite record
and leaving me skipping as dust filled the scratches,
caught in loops of yesterday, while the new melody played today,.
You loved like a fading planet, a falling star, ,
a light that danced for a moment on the horizon
and then disappeared, just as I knew you would, like a red sky beautiful but fading fast,
leaving me with nothing but the memory
of what once was,
Is that what you have also

You send me pictures,
fragments of time I cannot touch.
Your smile, frozen,
like a ghost in a mirror
I never knew how to hold.
You are the space between breaths,
the absence in a room full of voices,
the song that played in the dark
and left me waiting for the chorus
that would never come.

Maybe I should have burned the letters,
let the ashes drift into the wind.
But instead, I buried them,
tucked them into the soil of my chest,
where your name blooms
in the dark of winter.
You were the rose that never opened,
the thorn I kept in my skin
and never had the courage to remove.
How could I? You were both the ache
and the answer,
the fire and the rain
that never knew how to fall together.

Hurt people hurt people, they say,
Wish you never let your hurt touch me.
It was a wound I could never see but feel
only a shadow I could chase,
a kiss I could never taste.
You ran from my love like a bird afraid of flight,even when the cage door was flung open you pretended you were
trapped in a cage this of your own making,
fluttering just beyond my reach, but always softly in sight.

And I? I stayed, held on
Like the tide that cannot leave the shore, I did for sometime but eventually every tide returns to the depth of the ocean
I returned again and again
to the place where you held us,
even as you built walls, one moment here one moment gone,
I got use to it,
that you kept me on the outside,
I got use to it
watching the world we could have made
slip through the cracks of time, wondering what would it have been like ,
I got use to it

They say there are many fish in the sea,
but you, my love,
were the one I wanted to swim with,
the one whose scales shone
like the forgotten light of a dying star,
the one whose beauty
was both the reason and the ruin.
but as we swim in different tides
following different streams
I learnt to let go
I got use to it

You loved me, in some quiet way.
Maybe not in the way I needed,
but in the way you knew how to.
And I got use to it
Like the wind that touches your skin
but never stays long enough to hold,
your love was a moment I couldn’t capture,
And I got use to it
a flame I couldn’t keep from burning me
and leaving me with ashes
but I wet those ashes
wearing that ash like war paint
because I got use to it

I learned to love you from a distance,
like a painting too far to touch,
like a song too soft to hear.
I let you be,
because in the end,
I was the only one still waiting,
still calling your name
into the night
that never knew how to answer.

You are a scar I wear with the grace of the past ,
a dream I keep buried in the roots of my chest,
where the soil is rich and heavy
with the weight of you.
And this
I got use to as well
As always.

I will never chase you again,
but you will always be here,
in the spaces between the songs
and the shadows between the stars.
You are both the fire and the rain,
and I?
I am the silence
waiting for the storm to pass
but even if it never does
I've will get use to it