The Color Orange

I had a dream last night,

Where I defined the color orange.

With a lens of yester years,

I saw you as a deep harvest moon.

May it be wrong,

May it be evolution,

My subconscious rang poppy orange.

Not a burnt pumpkin,

Nor a fluorescent highlighter,

But more a tangerine or an apricot or a carrot,

With a purple shine from a blinding beam of sunlight.

It was pure, clean, golden orange.

The best shade.

Maybe it’s the sweetness,

Like calm sun through a dried fallen leaf,

The orange of a monarch butterfly,

Sharp against a blue summer sky,

Or a bright mango sunset with purple impaling mountains.

It is a bursting shade of orange.

A short haired woman interpreted differently,

She saw it her way,

I appreciate the contrast,

I appreciate the connection,

I appreciate the compassion,

But I like my shade best.


Copyright © 2014