Poetry

Orange (Is The Colour That Reminds Me Of You)

Orange streaks in the night,
blurring into beauty like the smudges
of your perfect peach lipstick left
on my cheek; they burn
like the flickering flames of
the bonfire at my sister’s birthday party
that illuminated our hands, entwined,
and reminded us of the autumn leaves
that cradled us that day in October.
I picked them out of your hair
your sweet smelling pumpkin spice hair
all the way home. Apricot juice
runs down your chin, and I’m listening
to your tangerine laugh in my memories
of those far away orange blossom days
where it’s eternally sunset somehow, but
that kind of happiness blinds and blazes
it is too painful to look directly into sunlight
and I can’t help feeling that
I miss the soothing cerulean depths
of the sea.

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