Love of mine, I cannot even begin to describe you, to fill you out with words, to embody your essence. I cannot put you down into a poem. I cannot draw you with my eyes. I cannot capture you with my heart, my hands shaking as I write this.
What I can do, however, is express exactly what you do to me.
Baby, you color me.
In this world, there’s an infinitude of color. There are more shades than there are heartbeats, more tints than there are breaths.
And you are every single one of them.
You are the Mediterranean on the perfect day, blushing cherry blossoms that have just bloomed, a rainbow drifting in a pool of gasoline underneath a storm. You are Crayola dust and pencil shavings, drunk dancing and black spray paint. You are duct tape and white Elmer’s glue, supernova glitter and blue neon lights. You are what it feels like to hear a heartbeat, to speak underwater, to get your first bruise. You are a poem, a prose piece, a walking palette, a technicolor dream scheme.
Baby, you color me. When I look at you, you color my eyes sunset. When I speak to you, you color my ears symphony. When I write for you, you color my heart inspired.
You and I are a shade beneath an oak tree, an epic adventure with glinting blades, two hands held underneath a blanket, celestial bodies about to implode.
And even in the dark, you are my prism. You are every color captured in your oleander skin, my infinitude of colors, my heartbeat shades, my tinted, tinted breaths,
all of which are colored by my love