Sensing Colors

August 29, 2008
Red is the smell of the delicate petals,
That decorate the long stem that pokes and prods my hand.
They brush against my sensitive nose,
Finding an opening where the smell of evening dew fills my soul.

Green is the sound of grass flinching around my feet,
As they whisper tunes that the wind bellows.
It’s the sound of the needles of pine trees,
Trickling together like a chorus of silent angels.

Purple is the feeling of a plum plinking down my chin,
The juice as tender as the skin of my fruit.
It fluffs my skin in its wet wake,
Leaving a tingle that makes my cheek laugh.

Brown is taste of the sweetest chocolate,
Dancing with my teeth.
It plays with my tongue,
Melting, melting, until I swallow.

Black is the sight I see,
It haunts what I am, eluding everyone else.
Yet colors never avoid me,
They dance upon my vision,
As bright as the colors everyone else sees.

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