"I'm a synesthete," I said.
"The neurons lay close in my head.
I'm always mixing stimuli,
For example, letter 'A' is red.
For me, everything's got to be
In color, value, shade, and hue.
Sounds, tastes, names, words,
feelings, memories, people, you."

"Me?" he asked, so curiously,
(I knew the question held in store)
"What color do you think I'd be?"
(A question I've been asked before)
And though I've always answered true
And never been shy to reveal
A lavender, or slate, or blue
This time, I pause before I spill...

"You are the world in the golden hour.
Glittering, gleaming, and perfectly grand.
You are a paintbrush on every flower
Sweeping out across the land."

"You are a hillside dripping in honey,
Drenched in sweet, auriferous splendor.
I'm not sure how - but it's so funny -
You're the best iteration of every color."

"You're orange and red; an unwavering light,
Your name is a hopeful, amber belief,
You're apex of day, pinnacle of sight,
And my time in your glow is always too brief"

"Then, with the twilight's parting streams,
You are periwinkle memory.
Until you're the moon's reflective beams -
The pearlescent silver of my dreams."

And with a pang I realize,
That I should not have chattered such,
For anyone with ears or eyes
Can tell that I've revealed too much.