Auras

I once thought yellow was sour because lemons were sour

but after her, yellow meant promise.

red was for lust, purple the milky way,

and the psychic, whose golden eye studies my frame,

says the magenta in my aura means

i am an artist.

she tells me we are made of

invisible matter softly shining,

that we are just like

the light of the sun.

my tenacity is fluorescent,

but so is my heart, my love

for the world burns brighter than

any other flame.

soften your gaze, she says,

and watch the tree.

So I do,

and it glows.