All of the colours and all of the quirks
of winter sugared fruit and fireworks.
Bury the sun beneath the earth of a garden grown
to cover me in weeds and hand you roses when you’re home.
Now all we are glows adept in the dark;
lone dune sands in the jaws of a shark.
Washed in a spiral of your every cold hue
Into the brown clothes that I wear for you.
To feint and fall behind curtains red
Caught in the wind in a butterfly net.
Image Credit: “Art is the fatal net which catches these strange moments on the wing like mysterious butterflies, fleeing the innocence and distraction of common men” by Albert Vuvu Konde is licensed under CC BY-NC 2.0.