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The Colour of Love

May 30, 2013

Love is sweet, passionate, stolen joy,
shiny, and shockingly pink, like birthday boots.

Love is butcher-red.
It is open-heart surgery with nothing but gin –
a fluorescent hangover-orange –
a funny-shaped bruise,
yellowing overnight –
and a bucket of warm puke that looks
far too much like custard.

It is damp, green silence,
smelling like the cold earth
in which I failed to hide.

Love is pure blue.
It is a strand of silk,
soft-spun from the summer sky;
plied with inky, messy, irrational indigo.

It is stretched –
attenuated to some point of no return,
where touch becomes a whisper –
where whispers are violet –

All the layers of love
adding up to 220,
or 284,
or to a rainbow-flavoured cake,
or to nothing at all.

It’s not so bad.
After all, I still have the boots.

 

Colour of love prompt

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