How we see each other

A thousand Sunsets.

Brilliant orange, red and yellow.

Swirling, misty, pungent; with the smell of lightning in the distance.

They are your cloak, as if to burn you.

Your voice glints against the clouds: the color of goldfish and bronze.

It runs through the air like veins of metal in the mountains.

Your smile is like staring into the sun.

But the warmth doesn’t burn.

It hums against me like a command of thunder.

The beat that makes me stomp in the mud, and spin through the rain.

Colors pound against me like waves on a shore.

Some people are neon signs against tired eyes.

Some people are whispers on the back of my neck.

They are so varied they crack my soul like a whip to rend my spirit.

But you . . .

You surround me like the smell of a garden in summer.

You make me feel like the autumn leaves on a hilly drive.

The Sunsets call up my memories.

Sometimes you hurt my eyes with your glow.

I feel as though I am your clouds.

Hiding you.

Destroying you.

Melting the sun into the dark trenches of the deep.

Turning your emblazoned memories into insignificant moments.

I wonder if when you turn to look at me –

Do you see a glowing sunset

Or the ocean trench in my reflection?