Between red dust
and Ponderosa pines
and the rains that smelled of your skin
Between the darkness
of various rooms
that we all once have sat in
Between blue skies
and cloudy days
and the times the Sun has shone
I wonder if there
was any way
anyone could have ever known
Known of the words
that we would speak
in the depths of our July
Known of the secrets
that we would keep
in lieu of telling a lie
But love is a color we can't comprehend
a sound we cannot hear
though forever will I try
To know and understand its hue
its melody, however obscure
for you,
always for you.
I realize now,
after years of delay
after numberless nights
spent with
the vastness
we call
space
That lovers see
in only shades of grey.
There is no black and white.
every right, every wrong
every agreement, every argument
is never wholly so.
there are only what if's
and has been's
and only what will be's
and being loved
and being in love
are rarely the same thing.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 12:34 AM UTC
Between red dust
and Ponderosa pines
and the rains that smelled of your skin
Between the darkness
of various rooms
that we all once have sat in
Between blue skies
and cloudy days
and the times the Sun has shone
I wonder if there
was any way
anyone could have ever known
Known of the words
that we would speak
in the depths of our July
Known of the secrets
that we would keep
in lieu of telling a lie
But love is a color we can't comprehend
a sound we cannot hear
though forever will I try
To know and understand its hue
its melody, however obscure
for you,
always for you.
I realize now,
after years of delay
after numberless nights
spent with
the vastness
we call
space
That lovers see
in only shades of grey.
There is no black and white.
every right, every wrong
every agreement, every argument
is never wholly so.
there are only what if's
and has been's
and only what will be's
and being loved
and being in love
are rarely the same thing.
his word- love.
