I breathe in Green.
Green eyes dance across the bay,
A forgiving light reaches out.
Frolicing reflections on the black bay floor,
Telling me to go.
A tranquil forest stares back.
Dull brown of the trees like your hair
Falling flat on your face while you sleep.
Green is a word I can’t remember.
Always on the tip of my tongue,
But Green is one moment away from slipping out,
Filling the whole room with words so thick and full of volume,
You have to cut through it to breathe.
Green is the sentence between
The distanced parentheses,
But Green is not an afterthought.
And in every life, you are Green.
Jun 6, 2024
Jun 6, 2024 at 11:27 AM UTC
I breathe in Green.
Green eyes dance across the bay,
A forgiving light reaches out.
Frolicing reflections on the black bay floor,
Telling me to go.
A tranquil forest stares back.
Dull brown of the trees like your hair
Falling flat on your face while you sleep.
Green is a word I can’t remember.
Always on the tip of my tongue,
But Green is one moment away from slipping out,
Filling the whole room with words so thick and full of volume,
You have to cut through it to breathe.
Green is the sentence between
The distanced parentheses,
But Green is not an afterthought.
And in every life, you are Green.
