The sun was going down
And you had your hand in mine
We were laying down
And watching the sky
Pink
Lilac
Midnight blue
But none of those colors
Were as pretty as you
You turned over
And placed your lips on mine
They were soft
Like petals
Gently pressing
Your hands
Skimmed my body
Tracing
Causing friction
My heart fluttering
Face flushing like the sky
Running my hands through your hair
You leaned in
And you whispered
"You are mine."

Under the orange sunset
Our arms wrapped around pillows
Have you ever felt that
Comfort below weeping willows?

We are here, far from home,
So let me listen to your stories
From outside this sweltering dome.
Let me listen to your worries.

Don't you dare say sorry,
Don't say you're fine,
Don't be scared, don't hurry,
Your secrets are mine.

Here it is only us and the furniture,
Glowing with the golden sun.
For now, just forget the future
And focus on the now, the fun

from a long, long time ago,
In a faraway place perchance,
Remember how winds used to blow
Free. Your family, friends, romance...

Tell me more, till you are sore,
I am here, one with the air,
Listening as your teas pour
And comfort you, show that I care

for you…
Now there is no fear.
Just your sweet tea and tears
enslaved in the atmosphere...

You talk and talk, on and on...
Recursion. Infinite loop.
But what about me?
Would you do the same for my bitter, black tea?

Sunlight’s amber coverage,
rippling in hand with the sea,
retreated beneath the shadow
of day’s rupture.

The swathes of darkness cast
across its golden bolt, swelled
outward with the sensation
of wine spilt from a chalice.

A thickened red,
seeping into deepened water,
expanded in punctuated
pulsations.

Night hovered, a ghostly spectre,
above the sun; water; day.
The sea, alighting in recognition,
burnt raw its tumbling waves,

casting orange flames in its
reflection- its essence to
the ashes of day- to
receive the ivory colouring

of bone upon bone.
The sun surrendered,
and in the darkness
a small sound rung forth.

Regret threaded its being
with the intensity of a storm’s approach.
‘Adieu,’  a voice called, clear before the
chalice of the sea. ‘Until tomorrow.’

When strands of night become day

Deepest purple turns to lilac gold

Quietly chasing away the lingering white of the stars

When ragged day becomes night

A fiesta of reds and orange

Boiling into the heavens beyond the horizon

The gentle dawn and the evening carnival

Inviting humanity to stop and gaze across the ages

United in a simple act, the colour of wonder