your flesh—
tincture of
the swan’s
plumage—
phantasm-blanc.
your eyes—
suave-ciel
like the pleasant
waters of
crete.
your hair—
gilded
gossamer
strands
like the
aurum
silk of
cambodia.
your brow—
grace
delicacy
incarnate—
like the
brushstrokes of
hiroshige.

if all of earth's creatures were blind,
would color still exist?

it doesn't matter how you dress,
or the music you listen to,
or the movies you watch,
or what your dreams are...

as long as you are happy,
and healthy
and your
actions don't harm others,

keep dressing how you dress,
keep listening to the music you listen to,
keep watching the movies you watch,
keep dreaming...

do what you do
never stop being you...

o the wingéd nyx!
thou heed’st thy mind fatigued,
and slumber seek’st.

phoebus doth await,
soon to arise, lucent form!
such is destiny.

and will i wake then,
to hail his or-coated rays,
to greet day's creatures.

lark, thy song sweet come!
diurnal clarity, come!
when day alas dawns.

when she cries, it rains
when she angers, it thunders
when she laughs, it shines

the brush of rothko,
caresses the white canvas—
harmonious blend.

eyes cerulean,
hair gold-burnished, scarlet-streaked,
never to be mine.