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Synesthesia
December 31, 2018
I love your hands
in mine
and how my fingers listen to you
the words they exchange,
glimmering constellations
on our breath
I love your strawberry scent
all pink and green and new
as bright as my heart
that beats in color
for you
I love your eyes
how their blue reaches out
to brush against mine
you sound so safe
melting into me
we’re sky and sea
I love your voice
how it holds me together
as you speak in black and white
you make sense to me
and I love when you taste like coconut
when you sound like heaven
blue and gold
and mine
© Shawn P., Las Cruces, NM
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In poetry, it's normal to say I feel colors. Or hear your hands. Elsewhere? Not so much.