Back there in the deep orange valley
you threw your arms up and waved
a metered hello-goodbye to each
and every color you could see.
They could not be counted on hands or feet,
fingers or toes,
or in veins.
But the married colors called.
They look happy, you said.
They taste like candy, you said.
You guzzled the candied-apple sky
and mocked the spotty minefields
that tortured you
and held you
in opalescent suspense.
You rummaged for the spectrum,
but stumbled singularly upon
Take off your makeup.
Strip the color-blasted walls and paint them eggshell blue.
A safe shade.
Forget the din that this iridescence makes.
Colorblindness might be good for a change.
Read the original post here.