Saturday, January 9, 2016
Colors
--the dark red they call Brennende Liebe,
which I find so beautiful.
- Louise Gluck
Amaranthine, the sunset, where we are. The eyes, for a moment, flicker, arrested by the sudden transitions, looking for gradation, nuance.
Capture, understand: there are no in-betweens.
But look toward the sky, now, Love, and touch that remaining light blue of forget-me-nots, for it is making way for teal, turquoise, and soon, the hour's riot of shades mimicking fire--flaxen, amber, saffron, ochre, rust. The mind conjures primroses, orange blooms. You, golden.
Next: crimson, rose, magenta. Now, a scarlet flame, and for the briefest moments, cobalt fire. But there is no cobalt in fire, you say--your voice, sapphire.
I put a finger to your lips.
Brennende liebe.
Dearest Love, a poet once wrote, and I, too, write: Dearest Love, look for my name in the sky. Trace that hint of scarlet, the color of kindling. I languish in embers. Look for my face in the sky.
Soon, evening. My silence turns from cyan to midnight blue, following you wherever, everywhere you go.
Cant stop thinking about you Love ❤
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